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DEAR  DAUGHTER  DOROTHY. 


"This  is  no  night  for  a  child  to  be  out." — Pa%e  8. 


DEAR  DAUGHTER  DOROTHY. 


By   A.    G.    PLYMPTON. 


HlustrateU  bg  tfa  aut&or. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

i8qo. 


Copyright,  r8qo, 
By   A.   G.   Plympton. 


33mbcrgitg  $ksb: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


DEAR  DAUGHTER  DOROTHY. 


CHAPTER    I. 

'  I  ^HE  rain  was  driving  in  sheets 
from  the  northwest,  and  the 
wind  howling  dismal  prophecies  of 
winter,  as  a  carriage,  one  rough  night 
in  November,  stopped  at  the  door  of 
Mrs.  Kipp's  boarding-house  on  Sun- 
shine Street.  It  happened,  at  the  mo- 
ment, that  Mrs.  Kipp  herself  stood 
looking  out  of  her  front-parlor  window, 
and  discerned,  by  the  light  from  the 
lamp-post,  a  young  man  descend  from 
the  carriage  carefully  carrying  a  soft 
bundle. 


6  Dear  Daicghter  Dorothy. 

"  This  must  be  the  gentleman  from 
the  South  who  wishes  to  take  my 
fourth-story  front,"  was  Mrs.  Kipp's 
conclusion ;  and  in  a  moment  more 
Jane  had  ushered  the  stranger  into 
the    room    with    the  words,  — 

"A  gentleman,  mum,  to  see  you." 

He  was  a  tall,  fine-looking  young 
man,  with  a  crop  of  crisp  curls  and 
a  pair  of  handsome,  though  rather  sad- 
looking,  dark  eyes. 

The  bundle,  which  was  well  wrapped 
up  in  a  travelling-shawl,  he  tenderly 
deposited  beside  him  upon  the  sofa. 

"  Heavens  and  earth  !  "  exclaimed  the 
good  woman  ;  "  it 's  a  baby  !  " 

Yes,  a  demure  little  creature,  with 
soft  gold-brown  curls  and  serious  eyes, 
and  a  smile  which  disclosed  four  little 
white  teeth,  and  which  went  so  straight 
to  Mrs.  Kipp's  warm  heart  that  it  was 


Dear  D might er  Dorothy.  7 

with  the  greatest  difficulty  she  could 
say, — 

"  This  is  Mr.  Thorpe,  I  suppose. 
Well,  I  wrote  you  that  you  could  have 
my  fourth-story  front,  but  you  said 
nothing  about  bringing  a  baby  with 
you.  If  you  had,  I  should  have  replied 
at  once  that  I  never  take  children  into 
my  house." 

"  A-goo  !  "  gurgled  the  smiling  baby. 

"  No ;  the  other  boarders  object  to 
them,  so  I  've  made  it  my  rule,  and 
I   must  abide  by   it." 

"  It  s  very  unfortunate  for  me,"  re- 
plied the  pensive  young  man.  "  It  never 
occurred  to  me  that  she  would  be  an  ob- 
jection. I  even  hoped  that  for  a  further 
compensation  you  would  be  willing  to 
take  charge  of  her  during  the  day  when 
I  must  be  away  from  her.  However,  if 
this  is  your  rule,  I  will  not  detain  you. 


8  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

Come,  little  Dorothy ! "  As  he  spoke, 
he  lifted  the  baby  again  in  his  strong 
young  arms,  from  which  height  she 
looked  down  upon  little  Mrs.  Kipp 
and  gurgled  gleefully. 

Mrs.  Kipp  followed  them  out  into 
the  hall.  The  rain  was  driving  against 
the  glass  lights  in  the  front  door,  which 
a  sudden  gust  of  wind  rattled  angrily. 

"  Goodness  gracious  !  "  cried  the  poor 
woman,  aghast  at  the  thought  of  the 
delicate  baby-girl  weathering  such  a 
storm,  and  speaking  right  from  her 
motherly  heart,  "  this  is  no  night  for 
a  child  to  be  out.  I  think  you  had 
better  stay  here  until  to-morrow,  Mr. 
Thorpe,  when  you  can  leave  her  with 
me  while  you  find  rooms  to  suit  you. 
Let  me  take  her  now,  and  you  go 
and  tell  the  hackman  to  bring  in  your 
trunks." 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  9 

The  truth  is,  Mrs.  Kipp's  fingers 
were  fairly  itching  to  squeeze  the  win- 
some baby.  She  took  her  from  the 
young  man's  arms  ;  and  little  Dorothy 
with  baby  wisdom  at  once  discovered 
she  had  found  a  friend,  —  a  discovery 
which  caused  her  to  nestle  her  head  on 
the  good  woman's  shoulder  and  stroke 
her  cheek  with  her  soft  dimpled  hand. 

The  following  day,  when  Mr.  Thorpe 
returned  from  his  fruitless  search,  Mrs. 
Kipp,  now  thoroughly  conquered  by 
Dorothy's  charms,  informed  him  that 
she  had  no  further  objection  to  his  re- 
maining permanently  with  the  child  in 
her  fourth-story  front ;  and  here,  with 
the  addition  of  the  little  hall-room 
adjoining,  the  two  made  a  home  for 
themselves. 

It  was  suggested  to  Mr.  Thorpe, 
when    Dorothy's    mother   died,    that    it 


io  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

would  be  necessary  for  him  to  give  the 
child  into  the  care  of  a  woman.  But 
the  broken-hearted  young  father  clung 
to  the  baby  as  his  only  comforter. 
Poor  little  Dorothy  had  neither  grand- 
mother nor  aunt ;  and  no  stranger,  he 
thought,  could  have  such  tenderness  for 
her  as  he  who  shared  her  loss.  So 
when  a  position  was  offered  him  in 
Boston,  he  packed  up  little  white  frocks 
and  dainty  garments  with  his  own  per- 
sonal possessions,  and  set  out  for  the 
North  with  Baby  Dorothy  upon  his 
arm.  To  others  it  might  have  seemed 
a  strange  thing  that  in  beginning  this 
new  work  he  should  hamper  himself 
with  a  helpless  infant,  but  he  knew  that 
it  was  only  for  her  that  he  had  heart  to 
work  at  all. 

He  was    a  very  young   papa,  and  in 
cases  of  emergency  he  had  no  valuable 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  1 1 

experience  of  children  to  fall  back  upon ; 
but  fortunately  the  baby  was  a  wonder 
of  health  and  good-nature,  and  even  at 
this  early  age  proved  herself  a  good 
traveller. 

There  is  something  very  touching  in 
the  sight  of  a  big  man's  tender  care  of 
a  delicate  little  child,  and  their  fellow- 
passengers  took  the  friendliest  interest 
in  the  odd  pair.  Dorothy  was  con- 
stantly borrowed  by  the  ladies,  and  car- 
ried off  to  be  fondled  and  amused  ;  and 
she  responded  with  sweet  baby  smiles 
to  all  their  advances.  All  the  children 
made  friends  with  her ;  and  even  the 
gruff  old  soldier,  who  growled  quite 
rudely  upon  her  first  appearance  on 
the  car,  soon  became  reconciled  to 
her  company,  and  rattled  his  newspa- 
per  to  amuse  her,  in  condescending 
playfulness.     Dorothy's      first     journey 


1 2  Dear  Daug liter  Dorothy. 

was  a  long  one ;  but  she  bore  it  brave- 
ly, and  laughed  and  crowed,  eat  and 
slept,  in  blissful  unconsciousness  of  all 
discomfort. 

The  truth  is,  she  was  a  most  engag- 
ing baby,  with  the  sweetest  little  face  in 
the  world,  and  a  disposition  to  make 
the  best  of  things.  It  really  seemed  as 
if  she  understood  that  she  was  being 
brought  up  by  a  man  instead  of  in  the 
usual  way  by  women  and  nurses,  and 
made  it  as  easy  as  she  could  for  him. 
She  slept  just  as  comfortably  under  his 
ragged  old  dressing-gown  as  if  covered 
by  the  daintiest  afghan,  took  kindly 
to  tobacco-smoke,  and  did  not  repine 
when  her  lullabies  were  whistled  to  her. 
Her  consideration  was  still  further 
shown  by  the  fact  that  whatever  her 
private  woes  might  be  she  never  cried 
over   them,  and    she  devoted  herself  to 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  I  3 

the  duty  of  growing  up  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible, which  you  must  admit  was  the 
cleverest  thing  a  baby  in  her  circum- 
stances could  do. 

The  admission  of  little  Dorothy  into 
Mrs.  Kipp's  household  was  a  reckless 
innovation,  and  it  was  with  fear  and 
trembling  that  the  dear  old  creature 
announced  that  a  baby  had  become  a 
permanent  member  of  it.  How  did  she 
know  but  Mrs.  Le  Grand,  an  invalid 
of  extreme  nervous  irritability  who  had 
boarded  with  her  for  years  and  years, 
would  declare  her  first  floor  vacant! 
And  there  was  the  Professor,  who  was 
writing  a  book  and  disturbed  by  every 
passing  sound,  —  what  would  he  say  to 
it?  The  Professor  detested  children, 
and  declared  on  the  spot  that  he  would 
not  stay  in  the  house  to  be  annoyed  by 
a  fretful  child ;  and  as  for  the  lady,  she 


14  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

wept  and  accused  Mrs.  Kipp  of  having 
no  consideration  for  her  sufferings. 

But  one  day  the  Professor  was  seen 
pushing  a  perambulator  upon  the  pave- 
ment, and  after  that  there  was  no  further 
talk  of  his  leaving  Mrs.  Kipp ;  and  Mrs. 
Le  Grand  even  forgot  her  nerves  in 
cuddling  the  cooing  baby.  As  the 
child  grew  older,  she  became  still  more 
interesting,  and  her  funny  speeches  were 
the  delight  of  the  whole  household. 

She  was,  it  is  true,  rather  an  odd 
little  girl,  and  talked  as  nearly  as  she 
could  like  her  papa,  whom  she  adored, 
and  who  regarded  her  more  and  more, 
as  the  years  flew  by,  as  a  dear  comrade. 
So  close  was  their  companionship  that 
some  one  once  playfully  dubbing  them 
Thorpe  and  Company,  the  name  was 
unanimously  adopted. 

This    familiarity    between    the    two 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  15 

often  troubled  "  Auntie  Kipp,"  who 
thought  that  the  usual  relation  of  father 
and  child  would  be  better  for  Dorothy, 
who  she  declared  was  fast  growing  into 
a  little  old  woman. 

But  when  she  expostulated  with  Mr, 
Thorpe,  what  did  this  singular  parent 
do  but  discuss  this  question,  as  he  did 
all  others,  with  Dorothy  herself,  who 
promptly  declared  Auntie  Kipp's  fears 
to  be  groundless. 

"  You  see  he  is  such  a  very  young 
papa,"  she  sweetly  explained,  "  and  I  am 
so  much  older  than  most  persons  of 
eight  years,"  —  Dorothy  always  spoke 
of  herself  as  a  person,  —  "  that  after  all 
we  are  very  nearly  of  an  age." 

She  was  such  a  thoughtful  little  girl, 
looking  out  for  every  one's  comfort  in 
such  a  sweet  way,  and  taking  up  one 
care   after  another  so  successfully,  that 


1 6  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

by  the  time  she  had  reached  the  age 
of  eight  she  had  really  a  great  many 
responsibilities. 

At  the  end  of  every  month  her  father 
on  his  return  from  the  office  gave  the 
month's  salary  —  "our  salary"  as  Dorothy 
called  it  —  right  into  her  small  hands  ; 
and  Dorothy  laid  aside  the  exact  sum 
for  "  the  fourth-story  front,"  and  another 
sum  for  the  laundress,  and  perhaps  a 
few  dollars  for  a  hat  for  papa  or  a  new 
frock  for  herself,  and  prudently  tucked 
the  rest  in  the  old  portemonnaie  to  last 
till  the  next  pay-day  came  round. 

Mrs.  Kipp  was  horrified  indeed  when 
this  plan  came  to  her  knowledge,  and 
she  prophesied  that  Mr.  Thorpe's  ruin 
would  be  the  result  of  it.  But  Dorothy 
declared  that  with  his  mind  so  occupied 
with  the  great  poem  he  was  writing,  he 
ought  not  to  be  worried  with  the  care  of 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  i  7 

money,  and  insisted  that  she  could  make 
it  go  as  far  as  any  one. 

But  though  different  from  other  little 
girls  of  her  age  as  Dorothy  certainly 
was,  Mrs.  Kipp  consoled  herself  with 
the  thought  that  she  had  too  loving  a 
heart  to  be  spoiled,  and  for  cleverness 
there  was  not  her  equal  in   Boston. 

"  As  for  her  father,  with  his  scribbling 
and  his  fiddling,"  such  were  Mrs.  Kipp's 
own  words,  "  he  is  the  very  moral  of 
those  pale  geniuses  you  read  about,  and 
with  no  more  sense,  dear  young  gentle- 
man !  for  getting  0n  in  the  world." 

Scribbling  and  fiddling  !  Well,  it  was 
fortunate  for  Mrs.  Kipp  that  Dorothy 
never  heard  this  disrespectful  sentence. 
With  all  her  loving  little  heart  she  be- 
lieved him  to  be  gifted  with  the  highest 
genius.  She  was  sure  that  the  violin 
had  never  been  played  as  he  played  it. 


1 8  Dear  Dazighter  Dorothy. 

Every  evening  she  brought  it  to  him 
and  sat  at  his  feet,  with  her  soft  thought- 
ful eyes  on  his  face,  as  he  made  it  sing 
to  her  the  beautiful  harmonies  that  filled 
his  soul.  Its  sweet  voice  had  sung  her 
earliest  lullabies,  for  often  in  her  baby- 
hood he  had  sat  by  her  cradle  and  lulled 
her  to  sleep  with  its  aid.  Dorothy  could 
not  think  of  the  dear  violin  as  other  than 
a  living  friend.  She  spoke  of  it  always 
as  Herr  von  Stein;  and  her  papa,  humor- 
ing her  whim,  also  spoke  of  it  as  Herr 
von  Stein.  The  name  of  Von  Stein 
she  had  selected  in  memory  of  a  dear 
friend  of  her  father,  who  had  given  the 
violin  to  him  years  ago  in  Germany. 
As  for  the  first  name  it  was  Herr,  "  after 
Herr  Beethoven,"  she  told  Thorpe  senior, 
who  enjoyed  the  joke  by  himself,  and 
did  not  explain  that  this  was  not  a 
proper   name   at   all,    but    signified    in 


She  sat  at  her  father's  feet  while  he  played.  —  Page  18. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  19 

German  the  same  as  the  English  pre- 
fix "  Mr." 

Her  father's  poems,  however  they 
were  regarded  by  the  cold  world,  were 
masterpieces  in  the  partial  eyes  of  his 
little  daughter.  While  he  was  writing 
them,  she  often  sat  quietly  by  his  side 
waiting  for  the  happy  moment  when  she 
could  number  the  pages,  which  was 
always  her  share  in  the  work ;  and  you 
may  be  sure  that  the  little  figures  were 
made  with  scrupulous  care,  that  no  ugly 
characters  should  mar  the  beauty  of 
the  pages. 


CHAPTER   II. 

/^NE  sunshiny  morning  Thorpe  and 
Company  were  crossing  Boston 
Common  on  their  way  to  the  office. 
It  was  their  usual  route  in  fair  weather, 
and  their  faces  had  become  familiar 
to  many  a  grave  man  of  business,  who 
smiled  as  he  passed  tall,  handsome 
Robert  Thorpe,  and  the  slip  of  a  girl 
whom  he  called  his  junior  partner. 
Dorothy  was  so  small  of  her  age  that 
the  Mother  Hubbard  cloak  and  the 
simple  white  muslin  cap  which  she 
wore  tied  down  over  the  pretty  gold- 
brown  curls  seemed  the  most  suitable 
costume  that  could  be  devised  for  her ; 
but   they  were   worn    solely  to   gratify 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  21 

a  whim  of  her  papa,-  and  were  pri- 
vately considered  by  the  wearer  as  very 
ridiculous  for  a  person  of  eight  years. 
It  was  a  pity  that  the  senior  member 
of  the  firm  being  so  tall  and  the  junior 
member  so  very  short,  they  were  un- 
able to  walk  arm  in  arm,  and  also 
that  Dorothy's  little  feet  had  to  take 
so  many  steps  to  every  stride  of  her 
companion ;  but  for  all  that,  it  cannot 
be  denied  that  they  had  the  air  of 
true  comrades. 

"  Papa,"  Dorothy  began  in  an  earnest 
voice,  as  they  turned  from  the  noisy 
street  into  the  Common,  "  how  I  do 
wish  we  could  get  a  position  to  travel, 
—  just  in  the  nice  warm  countries,  you 
know.  It  does  n't  seem  as  if  your  cough 
grew  a  bit  better,  and  the  doctor  said 
this  would  be  the  surest  way  to  cure 
it.     Besides,  I  am  getting  rather  tired  of 


22  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

being  a  bookkeeper;  those  horrid  figures 
are  so  tiresome,  and  give  you  so  many 
headaches.  And  then  it  takes  so  long 
to  get  rich.  I  suppose  we  ought  to  be 
grateful  that  we  have  our  salary  every 
month  ;  but  it  is  never  quite  enough, 
you  know,  and  of  course  we  ought  not 
to  be  so  grateful  as  if  it  were  more. 
I  have  given  up  all  hopes  now  of  Jon- 
athan Black  &  Brother  ever  raising 
our  salary  ;  have  n't  you,  papa  ?  " 

"  They  do  not  appreciate  us,  that 's 
a  fact,  my  Dorothy.  But  you  are  right; 
we  are  not  getting  on  at  all.  We  are 
still  poor  as  rats ;  but  what  can  be  done 
about  it  ? " 

"  Well,  suppose  we  send  our  poem  to 
another  publisher.  It  has  not  been  sent 
to  nearly  so  many  as  the  novel  or  the 
play.    Let 's  send  the  poem  again,  papa." 

The    fine    dark    eyes    of    Dorothy's 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  23 

father  took  an  expression  of  deep  mel- 
ancholy, but  he  answered  in  the  same 
bantering  tone,  "  The  publishers  don't 
appreciate  us  either,  my  darling." 

"  There  is  something  very  queer 
about  publishers,"  remarked  Dorothy, 
with  a  puzzled  frown  on  her  pretty 
white  forehead.  "  I  think  perhaps  they 
are  not  cultivated,  because  Miss  Miller 
says  that  one  has  to  cultivate  the  mind 
before  one  can  'predate  the  great  poets. 
I  suppose  poetry  is  like  tomatoes.  You 
have  to  learn  to  like  it,  and  it  takes  a 
long  time.  Now  there  is  Betty,  you 
know  ;  she  is  a  splendid  chambermaid, 
but  she  does  n't  'predate  Shakspeare. 
It  was  only  yesterday  morning,  when 
she  was  doing  up  our  room,  that  I  read 
her  a  part  of  the  play  you  like,  papa,  — 
•  Orfellow,'  that 's  the  name,  is  n't  it  ?  — 
and   when    I   asked  her  if  she  was  en- 


24  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

joying  it,  she  said,  '  Well,  it  do  be  a  bit 
dull,  miss.'  You  see  her  mind  has  not 
been  cultivated." 

"  Did  you  enjoy  it  yourself,  Doro- 
thy?" Thorpe  senior  smilingly  inquired. 

"  Well,  no,  papa,  not  very  much ; 
but  I  like  ours.  I  don't  mean  to  be 
discouraged,  though,  but  remember  the 
tomatoes,  and  read  right  on.  When  I 
have  cultivated  my  mind  I  shall  enjoy 
Shakspeare  too.  It  would  be  more  in- 
teresting now,  I  dare  say,  if  I  did  not 
have  to  skip  so  many  of  the  words.  As 
for  the  publishers,  perhaps  it  is  wrong 
to  blame  them  so  much  ;  for  they  may 
be  very  sorry  that  their  minds  not  hav- 
ing been  cultivated,  they  are  n't  able  to 
'predate  our  lovely  poem.  I  should 
think  they  would  be  ashamed,  and  I 
dare  say  they  are." 

"  What   a   sharp   young   person   you 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  25 

are,  Dorothy  dear !  "  her  papa  observed, 
with  a  fond  smile  ;  "  but  I  wonder  that, 
having  discovered  why  it  is  that  our 
genius  is  n't  recognized,  you  don't  see 
how  useless  it  is  to  keep  on  sending 
our  productions  to  the  publishers." 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  hoping  that  there 
may  be  just  one  cultivated  one  among 
so  many,  and  that  we  may  happen  to 
hit  upon  him.  Yes,  papa ;  let  us  try 
once  more,"  urged  the  child. 

"  Better  spend  the  money  in  confec- 
tionery that  the  postage  would  come 
to,  my  dear." 

"  No,  this  is  what  I  '11  do,"  cried 
Thorpe  junior;  "I'll  carry  the  poem 
myself,  papa,  and  save  the  stamps. 
Yes,  this  very  morning,  for  it  already 
has  your  name  and  address  on  the 
last  leaf.  I  will  leave  it  with  some  un- 
important-looking   little    man    to    give 


26  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

to  the  chief  one,  who  will  never  know 
that  it  didn't  come  in  the  regular  way; 
and  then  you  see  we  shall  have  earned 
the  money, — earned  it,"  repeated  Dor- 
othy, impressively,  "  and  can  afford  a 
real  treat  this  evening.  What  shall  we 
have ;  and  would  you  invite  Professor 
Grumpinson  ?  It's  more  fun  just  by 
ourselves;  but  he  is  such  a  lonesome 
little  old  gentleman." 

They  walked  along  Tremont  Row, 
and  down  School  Street,  planning  their 
entertainment,  as  merry  as  grigs,  —  hand- 
some Robert  Thorpe  and  his  little 
daughter  Dorothy.  A  happy  firm  was 
this  of  Thorpe  and  Company,  sharing 
poems  and  confectionery,  cares  and 
pleasures,  in  a  loving  copartnership. 

When  they  reached  the  office  of 
Jonathan  Black  &  Brother,  a  tender 
scene    was    enacted     by    them    in    the 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  27 

vestibule.  These  pathetic  partings 
took  place  every  morning,  to  the  great 
disgust  of  the  office-boy,  who  consid- 
ered them  derogatory  to  the  dignity 
of  a  man  of  business. 

"  Good-by  until  afternoon,  papa," 
said  Dorothy,  "  when  I  shall  come  as 
usual  to  walk  home  with  you.  Here 
are  your  eye-glasses  ;  and,  oh  !  here  are 
your  cough-drops.  I  had  almost  for- 
gotten to  give  them  to  you.  What- 
ever would  become  of  us  if  I  should 
grow  to  be  as  forgetful  as  you  are !  " 

"  The  fates  forbid  !  "  devoutly  ejacu- 
lated her  smiling  papa. 

"  And,  darling,"  went  on  the  anxious 
little  maid,  "dont  sit  in  the  draughts! 
I  do  wish  I  could  come  in  and  look 
after  you,  for  I  don't  think  Mr.  Jona- 
than Black  &  Brother  take  any  care 
of  you  at  all." 


28         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

"  They  don't  coddle  me  as  much  as 
they  might,  for  a  fact,"  was  Mr.  Thorpe's 
laughing  rejoinder ;  "  but  I  '11  try  and 
coddle  myself  for  the  sake  of  my  sweet 
Dorothy." 

"  Then  good-by,  and  good  luck  to 
you  ! "  cried  the  gay  little  damsel,  reach- 
ing up  for  a  final  kiss  ;  and  then  the 
heavy  door  of  Jonathan  Black  &  Brother 
swung  heavily  between  them. 


CHAPTER   III. 

/^~\N  her  way  home  Dorothy  stopped 
at  the  windows  of  the  confec- 
tioners', and  examined  with  contempla- 
tive eye  the  wares  on  exhibition.  She 
did  not  intend,  however,  to  make  her 
purchases  in  any  of  these  fancy  shops. 

"  It 's  just  as  Mrs.  Kipp  says !  "  she 
declared  to  herself.  "  It  is  a  good  plan 
to  look  in  these  high-priced  places,  and 
then  when  you  have  found  out  the 
styles  buy  what  you  want  in  the  cheap 
ones." 

In  fact,  Dorothy  always  patronized  a 
certain  little  shop  which  a  funny  old 
maid  had  opened  on  the  corner  of 
Sunshine    Street.      Most  of    her   wares 


30  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

were  of  her  own  manufacture ;  among 
which  pop-corn  balls  and  good  old- 
fashioned  molasses  candy  played  a 
very  conspicuous  part.  There  was  also 
a  certain  sticky  substance  made  into 
squares  that  were  especially  toothsome, 
and  which  the  children  called  "  lolly- 
gobs," —  a  term  which  so  insulted  Mar- 
thy  Ann,  as  the  little  old  maid  was 
called,  that  at  last  she  absolutely  re- 
fused to  sell  them  under  this  disrespect- 
ful name.  Therefore,  when  this  dainty 
was  desired,  the  children  were  obliged 
to  ask  sedately  for  so  many  cents'  worth 
of  taffy.  It  is  painful  to  add  that  im- 
mediately upon  leaving  the  shop  many 
of  these  bad  girls  and  boys  were  in 
the  habit  of  derisively  screaming,  "  Lol- 
lygobs !  lollygobs ! "  at  the  top  of  their 
shrill  little  voices,  outside  her  win- 
dow,   to    poor    Marthy    Ann's    intense 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  31 

chagrin.  Dorothy  never  did  this,  be- 
cause there  was  always  a  tender  place 
in  her  heart  for  the  unfortunate ;  and 
Marthy  Ann's  troubled  air  had  not 
escaped  those  soft,  observant  gray  eyes 
that  looked  out  so  seriously  from  the 
small  face  of  Dorothy  Thorpe.  So 
on  looking  up  at  the  ringing  of  the 
little  bell  on  the  door  that  always 
announced  a  customer,  and  beholding 
Dorothy,  the  little  confectioner's  face 
broke  into  a  pleased  smile. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Marthy  Ann," 
said  the  child,  with  a  friendly  nod. 
"Have  you  any  fresh  '  lol '  —  dear  me! 
of  course  I  mean  taffy — this  morning?" 

"  Now,  my  dear,  dorit  make  use  of 
that  dreadful  name !  I  consider  it  an 
insult !  " 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  did,  unless  it 
was   because    I    was    so    particular    not 


32  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

to,"  apologized  Dorothy.  "  But  really, 
Miss  Marthy  Ann,  I  would  n't  mind  it 
so  much  if  I  were  you ;  for  whatever 
name  you  call  them  by,  they  are  per- 
fectly delicious,  and  no  one  but  you 
can  make  them." 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  a  taffy-square  by 
any  other  name  would  taste  as  sweet," 
said  the  other,  quite  mollified  by  the 
compliment.  "  How  many  do  you 
want,  my  dear? " 

Dorothy,  having  made  her  purchases, 
was  leaving  the  shop,  when  her  eye 
fell  upon  some  cranberry  tarts.  "  If 
I  had  not  spent  all  my  money,  I 
would  get  some  of  those,  for  I  heard 
Professor  Grumpinson  say  he  liked 
them,"  she  said  to  herself;  "but  now 
I  really  can't  afford  it."  She  was  half 
inclined  to  substitute  the  novel  for  the 
poem    she    was    to    take    to    the    pub- 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  33 

Usher;  for  it  was  ever  so  much  larger 
and  heavier  than  the  poem,  and  of 
course  the  postage  would  be  more, 
and  thus  she  would  feel  justified  in 
buying  the  tarts.  But  this  plan  was 
finally  relinquished  as  not  being  "quite 
fair." 

Upon  reaching  home  Dorothy  took 
out  the  purse  and  counted  the  money 
that  was  left  from  last  months  salary. 
There  was  but  a  small  sum,  and  she 
stopped  to  consider  how  the  remainder 
had  been  spent.  From  her  bureau 
drawer  she  took  out  a  little  book  which 
lived  there  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
purse,  and  studied  it  attentively  for  a 
long  time.  It  was  the  book  in  which 
she  kept  a  strict  account  of  the  ex- 
penses of  Thorpe  and  Company. 

"  A  great  deal  goes   to   Mrs.   Kipp," 

she  said  at  last ;  "  but  I  am  sure  that 's 
3 


34  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

no  more  than  fair  when  we  have  such 
a  nice,  pleasant  room ;  and  a  great 
deal  goes  to  the  laundress.  Well,  I 
suppose  it  is  pretty  hard  work  to 
wash,  so  that 's  fair  too.  Perhaps  I 
need  not  have  bought  that  little  vase 
at  the  five-cent  store ;  but  I  really 
had  n't  a  thing  to  put  flowers  in  ;  and 
Professor  Grumpinson  and  the  others 
give  me  so  many  that  I  felt,  in  justice 
to  mysetf,  I  ought  to  buy  a  vase  to 
hold  them."  This  phrase,  which  Dor- 
othy had  borrowed  from  Mrs.  Kipp, 
was  of  great  service  to  her,  and  all 
her  little  extravagances  were  indulged 
in  on  the  strength  of  it.  But  there 
were  not  so  many  of  these,  after  all, 
when  one  considers  that  the  little  girl 
had  free  access  to  the  purse  where 
all  the  money  was  kept,  and  that  her 
father  always  encouraged  her  purchases. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  35 

Fortunately  "justice  to  herself"  never 
covered  more  than  five  or  ten  cents  at 
a  time.  Every  now  and  then  a  small 
sum  was  set  down  in  this  little  book 
as  travelling  expenses.  Once  Thorpe 
senior,  in  looking  over  the  book,  in 
his  laughing  way  asked  Dorothy  what 
this  meant. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  we  travelled 
so  much,  Dorothy,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  the  little  girl  answered,  "  we 
don't ;  but  the  poem  and  the  novel 
and  the  play  do,  papa !  I  put  down 
all  the  postage  they  cost  as  travelling 
expenses.      It  sounds  nicer,   I  think." 

This  had  happened  only  a  few  weeks 
previous,  —  just  after  the  poem  had 
come  home  the  last  time.  Papa  had 
greeted  it  with  his  never-failing  jokes, 
but  Dorothy  felt  they  covered  more 
than    the    usual    disappointment ;     and 


36  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

when  he  declared  they  would  have  no 
more  travelling  expenses  of  that  sort, 
her  heart  was  very  heavy  indeed. 

"  It 's  so  queer,"  she  had  said  to  her- 
self, "  that  all  those  horrid  books  of 
Professor  Grumpinson's  about  Greek 
roots  and  things  should  be  published, 
and  no  one  will  take  papa's  lovely 
poem  ! "  She  had  looked  forward  for 
such  a  long,  long  time  to  the  delight- 
ful things  they  would  do  and  have 
when  her  papa  should  have  won  fame 
and  money  by  his  writings,  that  the 
idea  of  now  giving  up  all  these  hopes 
and  settling  down  to  "just  our  salary" 
was  most  unbearable.  For  instance, 
how  could  she  abandon  the  plan  of  a 
trip  abroad,  when  the  doctor  had  pre- 
scribed that  as  the  surest  cure  for 
papa's  cough,  which  was  growing  more 
and  more  troublesome  in  the  chill  east- 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  37 

wind  of  Boston  ?  One  of  the  pleas- 
ures she  had  looked  forward  to  was 
a  visit  to  Germany,  where  her  father 
and  mother  had  lived  before  she  was 
born.  It  was  here  the  original  Herrvon 
Stein,  a  celebrated  violinist,  lived ;  and 
many  a  cordial  letter  Thorpe  and  Com- 
pany had  received  from  him  describing 
the  pleasures  he  could  offer  them  if  they 
would  only  come  to  Berlin. 

Those  little  items  called  travelling 
expenses,  you  see,  were  full  of  signifi- 
cance to  the  child,  and  entirely  ban- 
ished all  thought  of  the  cranberry  tarts 
which  in  justice  to  herself  she  felt  that 
she  ought  to  buy  for  the  Professor. 
She  put  away  the  purse  and  the  book, 
and  opening  a  shabby  little  trunk 
looked  in  upon  a  number  of  neat  pack- 
ages. They  were  the  poems,  plays, 
etc.,    on    which    Thorpe    and   Company 


38  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

had  counted  for  their  future  prosperity. 
Dorothy,  who  still  firmly  believed  in 
their  value,  handled  them  reverently. 

Taking  out  a  battered  manuscript 
and  smoothing  its  curling  pages,  she 
exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  pride  such  as 
Mrs.  Shakspeare  might  have  used  in 
speaking  of  "Hamlet,"  — 

"  Ah,  this  is  the  play !  It  looks  rather 
tired  after  travelling  so  much.  Let  me 
see,  how  many  years  ago  did  papa  write 
that  ?  It  was  when  I  was  sick  with  the 
mumps,  because  I  remember  teasing 
him  to  read  it  to  me,  and  begging 
him  to  make  Hildegarde,  who  had  so 
many  misfortunes,  poor  thing !  have  the 
mumps  too.  I  was  very  silly;  but  it 
was  before  Miss  Crosby  came  to  teach 
me,  and  my  mind  had  not  been  culti- 
vated at  all.  Now  here  is  the  novel. 
What    a    great,    long    book    it    would 


Dear  Daughter  Doroi/iy.  39 

make !  Don't  I  remember  how  tired  I 
was,  though,  before  I  had  numbered  all 
the  pages  ?  Papa  must  be  very  clever 
to  write  all  this ;  but  he  thinks  it 's 
not  so  good  as  the  others ;  so  some- 
time we  may  find  a  publisher  able 
to  'preciate  it." 

Finally  Dorothy  came  upon  the  par- 
ticular package  she  was  in  search  of, 
and  carefully  wrapping  it  up,  laid  it 
aside  until  she  could  find  time  to  go 
out  again. 

This  did  not  happen  at  once,  for  she 
had  promised  Mrs.  Le  Grand  to  wind 
wool  for  her;  and  then  she  remembered 
to  have  seen  a  hole  in  Professor  Grum- 
pinson's  gloves  which  she  had  secretly 
determined  to  mend  for  him.  After  she 
had  performed  this  little  labor  of  love, 
she  went  down  into  Auntie  Kipp's  par- 
lor to  see  what  she  could  do  for  her. 


4-0         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

Mrs.  Kipp  was  tying  on  her  new 
bonnet  before  the  glass.  She  wore  an 
anxious  face,  and  Dorothy  th'ought 
it  must  be  that  ths  new  bonnet  was 
not  satisfactory.  It  was  made  of  black 
silk,  and  sparkled  with  bugles ;  a  big 
red  bow  was  perched  on  one  side, 
while  spikes  of  stiff  flowers  decorated 
the  other.  The  whole  effect  was  not 
to  Dorothy's  fancy,  but  she  felt  that 
her  dear  old  friend  was  in  need  of 
encouragement. 

"  It  's  a  perfectly  gorgeous  bonnet, 
Auntie   Kipp,"  she  said. 

But  Mrs.  Kipp  only  shook  her 
head  sadly.  "  We  are  none  the  better 
for  gorgeor,  my  dear;  and  with  all  the 
trouble  I  have  with  that  impudent  Jane, 
I  don't  take  much  interest  in  bunnits." 

"  Oh,  with  Jane  !  "  cried  Dorothy ; 
"  is  that  the  trouble  ?  " 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  41 

"  Yes,  the  important  creature  !  She 
thinks  because  she  has  lived  ten  years 
with  me,  I  could  never  get  along  with- 
out her.  She  has  had  the  imperti- 
nence to  tell  me  so,  and  I  have  just 
discharged  her.  She  is  going  Monday. 
Dear,  dear !  I  declare  I  would  like  to 
go  out  of  the  boarding-house  business 
and  live  private  for  a  while." 

"  Well,  Jane's  mind  has  never  been 
cultivated,  and  people  whose  minds  are 
not  cultivated  are  always  exasperating," 
said  Dorothy.  "  But  she  will  always 
do  'most  anything  I  ask  of  her ;  and 
I  am  going  to  ask  her  to  stay." 

"  You  need  n't  tell  her  I  can't  get 
along  without  her,  for  I  can ;  and  I 
don't  care  if  I  can't!"  were  Mrs.  Kipp's 
parting  words ;  but  Dorothy  knew  they 
were  words  of  bravado,  and  went  off 
in  search  of  the  all-important  damsel. 


42  Dear  Datighter  Dorothy. 

It  was  a  well-known  fact  anions  the 
boarders  that  Jane  was  the  main  pillar 
of  Mrs.  Kipp's  house.  Without  this 
able  major-domo  it  would  certainly  have 
tumbled  in  ruins  upon  her  distracted 
head.  If  the  generous  creature  laid 
up  a  penny,  it  was  certainly  due  to 
Jane,  who  kept  a  firm  hand  upon  the 
purse-strings.  She  managed  not  only 
the  affairs  of  the  house  but  Mrs. 
Kipp  herself  into  the  bargain ;  and  if 
the  mistress  rebelled  she  was  always 
sure  to  repent  of  it. 

But  there  was  one  person,  and  a 
very  small  one  too,  who  could  bring 
Jane  to  terms ;  and  this  was  Doro- 
thy. In  five  minutes  she  was  in  a 
condition  to  give  any  promise  that  the 
child  demanded ;  and  having  secured 
it,  Dorothy  felt  free  to  go  on  her  self- 
appointed  errand.     So  with   the   manu- 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  43 

script  under  her  arm  she  danced 
down  Sunshine  Street,  happy  to  think 
that  there  need  be  no  entry  in  the  lit- 
tle book  for  "  travelling  expenses "  on 
this  occasion,  and  that  she  and  her 
papa  and  dear  Professor  Grumpinson 
were  to  have  a  most  delectable  treat 
in  consequence. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

HPHE  office  of  Jonathan  Black  & 
Brother  was  located  in  what  Dor- 
othy considered  a  very  out-of-the-way 
part  of  the  city.  To  reach  it,  one  was 
obliged  to  pass  through  a  great  many 
crowded  streets,  —  not  entertaining  thor- 
oughfares like  Washington  Street,  where 
there  are  a  great  many  interesting  win- 
dows for  a  small  girl  to  look  into  and 
choose  what  she  will  buy  when  her 
papa  is  a  prosperous  author,  but  streets 
crowded  with  drays,  and  pavements 
swarming  with  busy  gentlemen,  who  are 
too  intent  upon  important  matters  to 
stand  aside  for  the  convenience  of  little 
girls. 


Dear  Dattghtcr  Dorothy.  45 

As  Dorothy  wended  her  way  to  this 
office  every  afternoon  for  the  pleasure 
of  a  walk  home  with  her  papa,  she 
often  wondered  why  Jonathan  Black  & 
Brother  should  not  have  established  it 
in  the  region  of  Sunshine  Street.  But 
there  were  many  puzzling  things  to  her 
about  this  firm.  To  begin  with,  why 
should  not  "  Brother,"  as  she  always 
called  Mr.  Isaac  Black,  have  his  first 
name  on  the  sign  as  well  as  Mr.  Jona- 
than ?  She  did  not  think  it  was  really 
quite  fair  ;  and  yet,  for  all  she  espoused 
his  cause  so  warmly,  she  could  not  like 
Mr.  Isaac  nearly  so  well  as  rosy,  smiling 
Mr.  Jonathan.  When  "Brother  "  met  her 
outside  the  office  door,  as  often  hap- 
pened, he  always  scowled  and  told  her 
to  "run  along  home,"  —  "Just  for  all  the 
world  as  if  I  were  a  little  street  gam- 
mon/" she  explained,  with  great  dignity, 
to  her  papa. 


46  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

As  Dorothy  went  tripping  on  her  way 
this  particular  afternoon,  reading  for  the 
many  hundredth  time  the  sign  of  Jona- 
than Black  &  Brother  in  conspicuous 
letters  over  the  door  of  a  solemn  granite 
building,  two  men  came  briskly  down 
the  steps.  Just  then  a  sudden  gust  of 
wind  seized  the  hat  of  one  of  them  and 
bore  it  swiftly  out  of  reach.  A  messen- 
ger-boy started  in  pursuit;  but  the  wind 
carried  it  mockingly  on,  as  if  determined 
to  cheat  him,  and  finally  dropped  it  just 
at  Dorothy's  feet. 

The  little  girl  handed  it  to  its  owner, 
who  now  came  up. 

"  Why,  it 's  '  Brother,'  to  be  sure,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "  and  he  never  so  much 
as  thanked  me  !  " 

He  was  a  dark,  nervous-looking  little 
man,  with  a  deep  wrinkle  between  his 
eyes,  —  which   was   to   blame,   Dorothy 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  47 

thought,  for  the  cross  expression  his 
face  always  wore.  She  used  to  tell 
herself,  on  meeting  him,  that  he  did 
not  mean  to  be  disagreeable  and  she 
liked  him  very  much  in  spite  of  the 
wrinkle. 

This  objectionable  mark  was  espe- 
cially noticeable  as  he  took  the  hat  from 
Dorothy,  and  then  turning  to  his  com- 
panion, growled  out,  "  Robert  Thorpe's 
child,  is  n't  it  ?  Humph  !  it's  a  pity 
she  has  n't  a  better  man  for  a  father." 

The  words  struck  like  a  blow  on 
Dorothy's  ear,  and  she  flushed  up  to 
her  soft  wavy  bang  with  resentment. 
She  could  find  no  kind  excuse  for  him 
in  her  heart,  none  at  all ;  for  in  her  eyes 
he  had  committed  the  unpardonable  sin 
of  disparaging  her  father. 

She  took  a  long  breath  and  gazed 
angrily  after  him.     For  the  moment  she 


48  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

felt  that  she  was  glad  —  yes,  positively 
glad  —  that  whether  or  not  it  was 
"fair,"  his  name  was  not  on  the  sign 
with   Mr.  Jonathan's. 

"  A  better  man  than  papa !  "  cried  the 
little  daughter,  aghast  at  such  heresy ; 
"  as  if  there  ever  was  or  could  be  one !  " 
and  she  compared  him  in  derision  to  Mr. 
Isaac,  not  at  all  to  the  latter's  advantage. 
For  was  not  "  Brother "  the  crossest- 
looking  of  living  men,  while  her  father 
with  his  lovely  eyes  and  charming  smile 
was  as  beautiful  as  the  morning  ?  Who 
could  be  so  good,  so  handsome,  or  so 
clever  ?  As  there  was  nobody  to  answer 
the  question,  Dorothy  answered  it  her- 
self with  a  decided  "  No  one  !  " 

It  is  a  fact  that  Thorpe  senior  almost 
justified  even  the  exaggerated  admiration 
of  little  Dorothy.  Perhaps  he  had  been 
too   sobered  by   the   loss   of  his  young 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  49 

wife,  and  too  devoted  to  the  happiness 
of  the  little  girl  she  had  left  to  his  care, 
to  make  many  intimate  friends  among 
men  ;  but  he  was  loved  and  trusted  by 
every  one  with  whom  he  came  in  con- 
tact. He  had  a  tender  heart,  with 
never-failing  sympathy  for  those  in 
trouble ;  and  many  a  time  because  of 
it,  "  our  month's  salary  "  came  into  Dor- 
othy's hands  in  a  shockingly  reduced 
condition. 

It  was  fortunate  for  Dorothy  that  she 
could  thus  dismiss  "  Brother's  "  words 
from  her  mind.  She  was  too  sunny- 
tempered  to  brood  over  disagreeable 
things,  and  just  now  there  seemed  many 
pleasant  ones  to  look  forward  to.  In 
gleeful  impatience  she  waited  on  the 
sidewalk  for  her  father,  eager  to  tell  him 
the  events  of  the  day  and  hurry  him 
home  to  the  dissipations  of  the  evening. 
4 


50         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

One  by  one  the  other  men  came  down 
the  stone  steps  and  turned  homeward, 
and  now  a  half-hour  had  passed  since 
the  last  one  had  disappeared  around  the 
corner. 

"  It 's  those  tiresome  accounts  that 
keep  him.  How  tired  I  am  of  being 
a  bookkeeper ! "  she  said  to  herself, 
with  a  sigh  that  was  cut  short  by  the 
appearance  of  the  office-boy. 

When  he  beheld  Dorothy  he  stopped 
and  remarked :  "  Waitin'  for  your  pa, 
I  suppose.  Well,  it 's  no  kind  of  use 
to   wait  any  longer." 

"  '  No  use  to  wait ' ! "  echoed  Dorothy. 
"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  he  has  already  gone,"  was 
the  answer. 

"  You  are  joking,"  said  Dorothy. 
"  He  would  n't  go  without  me,  I  know." 

But    the    office-boy   solemnly    shook 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  5 1 

his  head.  "  Guess  your  pa  don't  think 
it  s  much  of  a  joke.  I  'm  telling  you 
the  truth.  He  was  taken  off  this  morn- 
ing by  a  policeman  who  did  n't  know, 
most  likely,  about  his  having  such  a 
pressin'  engagement,  or  he  would  have 
let  him  off." 

"  Dear  me,  how  very  silly!  "  exclaimed 
Dorothy,  with  a  cool  dignity  which 
seemed  to  exasperate  the  office-boy 
into  saying,  — 

16  You'll  soon  find  out  whether  I  am 
joking  or  not.  I  tell  you,  your  pa,  that 
you  are  so  proud  of,  has  been  taken  up 
on  a  charge  of  embezzlement." 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  laughed  little  Doro- 
thy.    "  Is  it  French  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it 's  the  French  for  stealing!' 
He  was  about  to  impart  other  informa- 
tion of  the  same  sort,  no  doubt;  but  the 
child   was   already  dancing  away,   with 


52  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

her  hands  over  her  ears.  It  was  evi- 
dent, from  her  silvery  laughter,  that  he 
had  failed  to  make  the  impression  he 
had  expected,  and  with  a  contemptuous 
grunt  he  started  off  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

Dorothy  watched  him  out  of  sight, 
then  came  back  to  her  old  post,  where, 
after  waiting  some  moments  longer,  she 
went  up  the  steps  ;  and  finding  the  of- 
fice closed  for  the  night,  set  off  at  a 
brisk  pace  for  Sunshine  Street,  won- 
dering more  than  a  little  why  her  fa- 
ther, for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  had 
forgotten  her. 


CHAPTER   V. 

A  BOUT  an  hour  previous,  Doro- 
thy's father  had  climbed  the  three 
flights  of  stairs,  and  entered  the  room 
in  which  so  many  years  had  slipped 
by.  There  was  his  desk  littered  with 
papers,  the  head  of  Dorothy's  best  doll 
confidently  reposing  on  a  closely  writ- 
ten page.  Among  his  books  were  in- 
terspersed gayly  bound  volumes  that 
contained  the  history  of  Dorothy's  fa- 
vorite heroines ;  his  meerschaum  pipe 
lay  beside  a  little  worn  worsted  mitten ; 
everything  spoke  of  the  close  compan- 
ionship of  father  and  child. 

He    sat   down    and    waited    until    he 
heard   a  well-known    footfall    upon    the 


54         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

stairs,  a  child's  voice  speaking  to  some 
one  in  the  lower  hall,  and  finally,  the 
groping  of  a  little  hand  for  the  knob 
on  the  door;  and  then  Dorothy  came 
in.  For  a  moment  she  did  not  dis- 
cover him  in  the  gathering  gloom ; 
then,  spying  him  as  he  sat  by  the  fire, 
his  head  bowed  on  his  hand,  she  ran 
up  and  threw  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  pressing  her  cheek  against  his 
short  crisp  curls. 

"  You  bad  papa,  not  to  wait  for  me  !  " 
and  then  having  swung  herself  around 
to  look  in  his  face,  she  cried  out  in  a 
startled  voice,  "  Papa,  are  you  crying  ?  " 

Dorothy  never  forgot  the  sensation 
of  that  moment ;  or  the  next,  when  he 
took  her  in  his  arms,  and  she  heard 
him  whisper,  "  Oh,  my  Helena!  I  have 
brought  your  child  to  disgrace." 

Helena  was  the   name  of  Dorothy's 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  55 

mother,  and  it  was  the  first  time  she 
had  ever  heard  her  father  speak  it. 
The  child's  face  grew  white,  and  her 
heart  beat  to  suffocation ;  but  she  tried 
to  control  herself,  and  above  all,  not 
to  cry. 

"  What  is  it,  papa  ?  "  she  whispered. 

It  never  occurred  to  the  father  to 
withhold  his  trouble  from  this  little 
eight-year-old  child.  Indeed,  it  would 
not  have  been  possible  to  conceal  it 
from  her  loving  and  watchful  eyes. 
So,  putting  her  down  upon  the  floor, 
and  turning  so  that  he  could  not  look 
upon  the  little  face  in  its  soft,  tender 
beauty,  he  tried  to  tell  what  misfortune 
had  befallen  him. 

"  I  have  been  arrested,"  he  said,  in 
a  strange  voice,  "  under  a  charge  of  em- 
bezzlement;  that  is —  Oh,  my  God!" 
he  groaned,  "how  can   I  tell  her!" 


56  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

"  Don't  try  to,  papa,"  said  Dorothy, 
moving  closer  to  him,  "for  I  know 
what  it  means.  Let  us  not  be  sad, 
dear,  for  we  never  did  it,  you  know." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure,  child,  that  you 
know  what  embezzlement  means  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Dorothy,  nodding  her 
head  sagely ;  "  it  means  taking  their  hor- 
rid money.  But  we  never  did.  How 
could  they  think  so,  papa?" 

His  arm  was  around  her  again,  and 
he  drew  her  to  his  knee,  —  this  brave 
and  trustful  little  daughter,  who  always 
stood  ready  to  comfort  him. 

"They  thought  so  because  the  money 
was  gone,  dear,  —  had  been  drawn  from 
the  bank,  —  and  my  books  are  not 
straight ;  that  is,  the  figures  have  been 
altered,  —  big  sums  changed  into  little 
ones,  and  the  difference  in  money  is 
gone." 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  57 

"  Oh !  and  why  should  n't  they  have 
accused  any  one  else  instead  of  us  ?  " 

"  Because  no  one  besides  myself  has 
access  to  the  books.  Dorothy,  in  this 
matter  you  must  not  say  us.  I  will 
not  have  my  innocent  child  include  her- 
self in  this  vile  business.  Don't  cry, 
darling!     Be  my  brave  little  maid!" 

"  I  cannot  be  brave,  papa,  if  you  keep 
me  away  from  you  like  that.  I  must 
be  accused  if  you  are.  We  have  al- 
ways done  everything  together,  and  I 
can't  bear  now  to  be  left  out." 

She  was  so  distressed  that  her  papa 
could  only  say,  as  he  stroked  her  soft 
curls :  "  There,  there,  child  !  say  what 
you  like.  What  do  words  matter,  after 
all  ? " 

Then  he  resumed  his  former  atti- 
tude, with  his  head  in  his  hands;  and 
the  cloud  which  had    seemed   to  lift  a 


58         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

little  settled  down  upon  him  heavier 
than  before.  Dorothy  sat  upon  the 
floor  at  his  feet,  watching  him ;  her 
little  chest  heaving  with  sobs  which 
she  would  not  give  way  to.  She 
pressed  her  fingers  upon  her  hot  eye- 
balls to  keep  the  tears  back. 

"  Papa,"  she  asked  at  last,  in  her 
soft  voice,  "what  can  we  do?" 

il  I  do  not  know,  child,"  was  the  sad 
reply. 

"  But,  papa,"  she  cried  impetuously, 
"  surely  we  should  do  something!  We 
will  not  let  them  think  we  took  the 
money.      What  can  we  do  ?  " 

He  looked  so  stunned  as  he  sat  there, 
staring  vacantly  into  the  fire,  that  the 
child  grew  frightened.  Placing  a  hand 
on  his  knee  to  rouse  him,  she  said, 
"  Let  us  ask  Professor  Grumpinson 
what  to  do." 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  59 

"  No,  no,  my  Dorothy ;  he  cannot 
help  us,"  he  said,  unconsciously  falling 
into  the  old  form  of  speech  which  had 
just  shocked  him  so. 

"And  who,  then?" 

"  A  lawyer,  I  suppose,  if  any  one." 

"A  lawyer,  —  oh  yes  !  "  cried  the  child, 
brightly.  "  Tommy  Dow's  father  is  a 
lawyer,  —  a  good  one.  He  treated  us 
all  at  Marthy  Ann's  shop  when  she  first 
opened  it,  —  yes,  every  boy  and  girl  on 
Sunshine  Street.  He  is  a  very  good 
lawyer,  papa ;  let  us  go  to  him." 

She  picked  up  her  coat  and  little  cap 
from  the  chair  where  she  had  flung  them, 
and  put  them  on.  Then  she  brought 
her  father's  heavy  coat  and  handed  it  to 
him.  By  and  by  she  persuaded  him  to 
stand  up  and  let  her  help  him  on  with 
it.  When  they  were  ready  to  go  he  let 
her  lead  him  out  into  the  street. 


60  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

The  office  of  Tommy  Dow's  father 
was  but  a  short  walk  from  Sunshine 
Street;  and  Dorothy,  who  had  often 
walked  there  with  Tommy,  knew  the 
way  perfectly. 

The  lawyer  was  just  putting  away 
some  papers  preparatory  to  going  home, 
when  Thorpe  and  Company  opened  the 
door. 

He  begged  the  new-comers  to  be 
seated,  and  sat  down  himself  with  his 
face  turned  inquiringly  to  Mr.  Thorpe. 

The  poor  young  man  still  wore  the 
bewildered  expression  that  had  fright- 
ened Dorothy.  He  seemed  hardly  to 
notice  Mr.  Dow's  presence,  and  to  his 
"  Now,  if  you  please,  sir,  will  you  state 
your  business  ?  "  made  no  answer  at  all. 

"  Ahem  !  "  said  the  small  voice  of  the 
junior  partner;  "we  have  been  accused 
of  'bezzling." 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  61 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,"  cried  the 
lawyer,  glancing  first  at  Dorothy  and 
then  at  her  father,  "  how  very  extraor- 
dinary!  Sir,"  turning  to  Mr.  Thorpe, 
"  what  under  the  heavens  did  you  bring 
that  child  for  ?  " 

"  He  did  n't  bring  me,"  said  Dorothy, 
sweetly ;  "  I  brought  him.  I  told  him 
you  were  a  good  lawyer." 

"  She  knows  about  as  much  as  I  do 
of  the  whole  affair,"  said  Mr.  Thorpe, 
slowly  recovering  himself  under  the 
sharp  eyes  of  the  lawyer.  "  I  have  been 
falsely  accused  of  embezzling,  by  Jona- 
than Black  &  Brother,  whose  book- 
keeper I  was,  and  have  come  to  you 
for  advice." 

It  was  quite  dark  when  Dorothy  and 
her  father  went  out  again  into  the  street. 
There  had  been  a  long  conversation 
between  the  two  men  which  the  child 


62         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

had  been  unable  to  understand  ;  but  she 
knew  that  her  father  had  at  last  aroused 
from  the  dull  stupor  that  distressed  her 
so,  and  meant  to  fight  with  every  inch 
of  his  being  for  their  good  name.  With 
the  natural  elasticity  of  childhood,  she 
laid  her  fears  aside,  sure  that  so  good 
a  lawyer  as  Tommy  Dow's  father  could 
set  matters  straight. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"  TT  is  very  nice,  is  it  not,"  said  Doro- 
thy one  day  to  her  papa,  "  that 
Tommy  Dovv's  father  does  all  the  work 
and  we  don't  have  anything  to  do  about 
our  case  ?  It 's  very  lucky,  because  I 
should  n't  really  know  what  to  do.  That 's 
the  'vantage,  I  suppose,  of  having  a  good 
lawyer.  Will  we  have  anything  to  do 
at  all,  papa? " 

"  Only  to  pay  his  fee,  my  dear,"  re- 
plied her  father,  as  cheerfully  as  might 
be. 

"Fee?  that's  money,  I  suppose,"  said 
Dorothy,  concealing  her  dismay  with  a 
smile. 


64  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

When  her. father  had  lost  his  position 
at  Jonathan  Black  &  Brother's,  and 
"  our  salary "  had  ceased  to  come  in 
regular  instalments,  the  question  of 
money  became  very  perplexing  to 
Thorpe  and  Company. 

Mr.  Thorpe  had  wished  to  leave  Mrs. 
Kipp's  fourth-story  front  at  once,  and 
remove  into  cheaper  quarters ;  but  that 
dear  good  woman  would  not  listen  to 
such  a  plan  for  a  moment. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Thorpe,"  she  had  said, 
"  I  am  surprised,  I  am  indeed,  that  you 
should  propose  any  such  thing,  know- 
ing, as  of  course  you  do,  that  it  would  be 
like  drawing  my  heart  out  to  take  Doro- 
thy away  !  Has  n't  she  been  as  dear  to 
me  as  a  child  of  my  own  ever  since  the 
night  you  brought  her  here,  a  mite  of  a 
baby,  but  chipper  as  you  please  in  all 
that   driving   storm  ?     Besides,    I    hope 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         65 

I  'm  not  one  as  won't  stand  by  folks 
when  they  are  in  trouble ;  and  as  for  the 
rent  it  can  just  wait  till  it's  convenient 
for  you  to  pay  it." 

That  might  not  be  for  a  long  time 
hence.  To  raise  the  necessary  money, 
therefore,  he  sold  his  watch  and  various 
other  articles  of  value.  But  his  books 
were  still  in  their  accustomed  places  on 
the  shelves,  and  it  broke  Dorothy's 
heart  to  see  him  look  sadly  at  them, 
knowing  it  was  in  his  mind  that  these 
too  must  soon  be  sacrificed. 

"  It  isn't  fair,"  she  reflected,  "  that  all 
his  things  should  be  sold  and  that  I 
should  keep  mine.  If  I  knew  how  to 
sell  them,   I  would." 

She  had  a  great  many  little  keepsakes 
which  had  been  given  her  from  time  to 
time  by  various  persons  who  had  been 
captivated  by  her  gentle  beauty  and  the 

5 


66         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

quaint  dignity  of  her  manner.  These, 
one  day,  she  took  to  a  jeweller,  who 
named  so  small  a  sum  as  the  price  he 
would  be  willing  to  give  for  them,  that 
he  himself  smilingly  advised  her  not  to 
sell  them  to  him.  It  was  just  as  she 
was  returning  from  this  unsuccessful 
expedition  that  she  for  the  first  time 
noticed  a  red  flag  on  the  house  beyond 
Tommy  Dow's,  the  owner  of  which  had 
recently  died. 

"  That  red  flag  means  that  there  is 
going  to  be  an  auction,"  said  Tommy, 
who  was  watching  the  people  as  they 
mounted  the  steps.     "  Let 's  go  too." 

"  Do  you  have  to  pay  ?  "  asked  Dor- 
othy, discreetly. 

Being  assured  that  no  such  embar- 
rassing demand  would  be  made,  Doro- 
thy followed  her  friend  without  further 
ado ;    and   here   it  was  that  the  bright 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         67 

idea  came  to  her  mind  that  her  un- 
salable wares  might  be  disposed  of  by 
auction.  A  consultation  with  Tommy 
ensued,  in  which  he  assured  her  of  his 
ability  to  act  as  auctioneer;  and  then 
she  went  merrily  home  to  look  over 
her  possessions. 

Spreading  them  out  upon  the  table, 
she  was  really  surprised  to  see  how 
much  property  she  owned.  There 
were  nine  dolls,  a  doll's  carriage,  a 
bed,  and  much  furniture  besides,  which 
upon  being  rubbed  up  looked  nearly 
as  good  as  new.  Some  of  the  dolls 
she  was  loath  to  part  with,  particularly 
a  splendid  damsel  in  an  aesthetic  pea- 
cock-green gown,  which  she  admired 
very  much.  However,  she  was  deter- 
mined to  allow  no  favoritism  anions: 
her  children,  but  dispose  of  the  whole 
lot   at   once.      Then,   besides   the   toys, 


68         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

there  were  two  dainty  bangles,  a  dear 
little  turquoise  pin,  another  with  a 
small  pearl  in  the  centre ;  a  string  of 
amber  beads  cut  into  queer  figures, 
and  a  silver  watch.  There  were  fans 
and  fineries  of  all  sorts,  dear  to  Dor- 
othy's heart  as  the  gift  of  this  one  or 
that  among  her  many  friends.  Yes, 
they  were  all  gifts ;  and  she  felt  that 
it  was  a  grave  discourtesy  to  the  do- 
nors to  sell  them  at  all. 

In  the  drawer  where  these  were 
mostly  kept  was  a  small  box  tied 
carefully  with  a  ribbon,  which  held 
a  valuable  ring  that  had  been  her 
mother's.  But  although  she  drew  it 
forth  and  examined  it,  Dorothy  did 
not  add  this  to  her  collection.  The 
ring  had  been  given  her  by  her  father, 
with  the  request  that  she  should  keep 
it   carefully   until   she   was   old    enough 


"Perhaps  if  I  should  sell  the  ring  she  would  think  we  have  forgotten  her."  —  Page  bg. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         69 

to  wear  it  It  must  not  be  sold,  there- 
fore, without  his  permission  ;  and  this 
she  could  not  ask  for  without  speak- 
ing of  the  auction,  which  she  wished 
to  keep  a  secret  from  him  until  the 
proceeds  were  safely  placed  in  the 
portemonnaie.  And  besides  this,  in  Dor- 
othy's heart  there  was  a  tender  feeling 
for  the  young  mother  whom  she  had 
never  known  that  forbade  her  to  part 
with  the  ring  she  had  once  worn. 

"  It  seems  as  if  it  would*  hurt  her 
feelings  if  I  were  to  sell  it,"  the  little 
girl  thought,  as  she  twirled  the  spark- 
ling jewel  around  her  finger.  "  Perhaps 
she  would  even  think  that  we  have 
forgotten  her;  but  I  know  if  she  were 
here  she  would  willingly  give  it  up  to 
help  dear  papa," 

The  auction  was  to  take  place  on 
the  following  day,   in  the  basement  of 


•jo         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

Tommy  Dow's  house.  To  be  exact,  it 
was  to  take  place  in  the  laundry,  from 
the  window  of  which  a  flaming  flag, 
made  out  of  one  of  Mrs.  Kipp's  red 
flannel  petticoats,  fluttered  gayly  in  the 
breeze.  There  was  a  placard  pasted 
on  the  basement  door,  too,  which  was 
a  close  imitation  of  the  one  which 
had  advertised  the  previous  auction 
sale,  and  which  began  thus :  "  Auction 
sale  of  the  household  goods  of  the  late 
Dorothy  Thorpe."  Then  followed  such 
an  elaborate  catalogue  of  dolls  and  dolls' 
toys,  books,  games,  and  the  like,  that 
every  child  on  Sunshine  Street  re- 
solved  to   be   present. 

Before  the  hour  arrived,  however, 
Dorothys  idea  of  politeness  led  her  to 
make  a  call  upon  each  person  whose 
gift  was  to  be  disposed  of.  It  would 
be   difficult    to    find    a    more    oddly  se- 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         71 

lected  group  of  friends  than  these  for 
a  damsel  of  eight ;  but  however  they 
might  seem  to  others,  to  Dorothy  they 
were  one  and  all  very  lovable  person- 
ages. There  was  Mrs.  Le  Grand,  for 
instance,  who  had  Mrs.  Kipp's  best 
rooms,  a  worldly  old  lady  in  black 
lace  and  bugles,  that  made  herself  as 
disagreeable  as  possible  to  everybody. 
How  was  it  that  Dorothy  had  found 
the  key  to  her  heart?  Then  all  agreed 
that  Professor  Grumpinson  was  a  crusty 
old  scholar,  fond  of  no  society  but  his 
own ;  but  Dorothy  knew  he  could  be 
as  agreeable  as  the  best  of  them.  She 
could  not  see  why  little  Miss  Miller 
should  not  be  a  general  favorite.  As 
for  her  being  ill-natured  and  envious, 
the  child  would  not  believe  a  word  of 
it.  To  her  she  was  like  sunshine  it- 
self, and  so  it  was  with  them  all. 


72  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

"  Lor',  that  Dorothy  is  a  witch,  and 
that's  what  she  is,"  Mrs.  Kipp  would 
say,  "  and  can  persuade  the  blackest 
wretch  to  show  himself  as  gentle  as  a 
lamb  to  please  her;  for  she  will  have  it 
that  everybody  is  as  good  as  herself." 

These  were  the  little  girl's  friends, — 
these,  and  several  others  apparently  no 
more  to  a  child's  fancy ;  and  Dorothy 
called  on  them  all  to  explain  why  she 
was  going  to  part  with  their  gifts. 

The  day  of  the  auction  proved  ex- 
ceptionally fine,  which  must  account 
for  the  large  number  of  persons  who 
congregated  in  the  Dows'  laundry. 
The  tubs  had  been  covered  with 
boards  on  which  were  spread  the 
articles  for  sale,  the  latter  being  care- 
fully inspected  by  the  children,  not- 
withstanding the  watchful  eye  of  the 
auctioneer   and  his  repeated  command, 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         73 

"  Hands    off,    ladies    and     gentlemen  ; 
please   don't   finger   the   goods!" 

The  owner  of  these  was  secreted 
behind  a  clothes-horse  covered  with 
shawls.  That  she  was  an  interested 
spectator  of  the  scene  was  made  evi- 
dent by  whispered  comments,  prob- 
ably intended  for  Tommy's  ear,  but 
distinctly  audible  to  all.  Such  excla- 
mations as,  "  Mrs.  Le  Grand,  I  de- 
clare, in  her  best  black  silk ! "  or, 
"  Here  comes  the  Professor  on  the 
lookout  for  bargains!"  put  every  one 
in  good  humor. 

The  first  object  to  be  sold  was  one  of 
the  dolls.  "  Ahem  !  Ladies  and  gentle- 
men,"  began  Tommy,  "  what  am  I 
offered  for  this  beautiful  Paris  doll  ? 
A  very  accomplished  lady,  —  both  eyes 
open  and  shut,  and  it  says  '  Mamma 
almost  as  well  as  a  parrot." 


74         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

"  It 's  got  a  piece  broken  off  its  nose," 
here  interrupted  a  child's  voice ;  "  I 
saw  it." 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  madam,"  said 
Tommy,  turning  the  doll  round  so  as 
to  get  a  view  of  its  features ;  "  it 's 
only  —  er — a  little  retroussee!' 

Upon  this  cool  assertion  the  pres- 
ence of  the  auctioneer  was  instantly 
demanded  behind  the  screen,  where 
the  following  dialogue  in  loud  whis- 
pers  took  place :  — 

"  Tommy,  she  is  right.  I  dropped 
that  doll  downstairs  ever  so  long  ago. 
I  want  you  to  tell  the  truth." 

"  Pooh !  an  auctioneer  never  does 
that ;  he  has  to  sell  things,"  protested 
the  boy.  "  Now  don't  be  a  goose ! 
That  fellow,  the  other  day,  said  what 
he  chose,  and  no  one  popped  up  to 
contradict." 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  75 

"Well,  but  poor  Mr.  White  couldn't 
pop  up,  on  account  of  his  being  dead. 
He  had  a  splendid  excuse,  you  see,  and 
I  have  n't  any  at  all." 

Then  Tommy  stoutly  declared  that 
Dorothy  would  have  to  sell  her  own 
wares,  and  it  began  to  look  as  if  there 
would  be  no  further  proceedings  that 
day  ;  but  presently  he  reappeared,  evi- 
dently conquered,  and  the  sale  went  on. 

"  This  beautiful  doll,  then,"  he  ad- 
mitted, "  has  met  with  an  accident  and 
lost  the  tip  of  her  nose.  I  don't  think 
it  has  injured  her  looks  in  the  least ; 
and  her  eyes  are  in  perfect  condition, 
and  —  and  —  "  stammered  Tommy, 
wildly  seeking  other  perfections. 

"  And  she  has  a  very  affectionate 
heart,"  prompted  the  tearful  voice  of 
its  bereaved  mamma. 

"  A  very  affectionate  heart!"  repeated, 


j6         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

Tommy.  "  Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
what  do  you  offer  me  ?  " 

"  Ten  cents,"  said  a  bold  little  girl 
in  a  big  hat. 

"  Ten  cents !  She  offers  me  ten 
cents  for  this  beautiful  Paris  doll ! " 
cried  Tommy,  in  such  an  exact  imita- 
tion of  the  sarcastic  tone  of  his  model 
that  Dorothy  laughed   outright. 

"  Well,  fifteen  then,"  said  the  same 
voice  that  had  offered  ten,  "and  that's 
enough,  —  or  perhaps  twenty-five." 

"  Twenty-five  ;  make  it  fifty.  Will 
you  give  me  fifty  ?  Seventy -five  !  A 
capital  chance,  Miss  Marthy  Ann,  to 
enlarge  your  stock  !  Seventy-five  ;  will 
you  gimme  seventy-five  ?  " 

"Seventy-five,"  said  Marthy  Ann. 

"  Seventy-five  !  gimme  dollar  ?  Am 
I  offered  dollar?" 

"  No,  indeed,   you   are  n't,"  cried  the 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         yy 


girl  with  the  big  hat.  "  I  guess  not, 
for  that  cracked  up   thing." 

u  Dollar  !  "  said  the  indignant  Mar- 
thy  Ann,  bidding  in  her  wrath  against 
herself,  with  a  scowl  for  Miss  Big  Hat, 
and  a  smile  for  the  eyes  peering  out 
from  between  the  shawls. 

"Dollar!  dollar  for  this  lovely  doll! 
Make  it  dollar  fifty!  Gimme  fifty  — 
forty  —  thirty  —  fifty,"  sputtered  Tom- 
my, excitedly ;  and  catching  Professor 
Grumpinson's  nod,  closed  with  :  "  This 
beautiful  Paris  doll  sold  to  Professor 
Grumpinson  at  a  dollar  and  a  half!" 

"  Dear  me  !  why,  what  will  he  do  with 
it  ?  "  inquired  Dorothy,  in  an  anxious 
whisper. 

"Never  you  mind!  Teach  it  Greek, 
for  all  I  care,"  replied  the  excited 
auctioneer. 

The  next  object  sold  was  the  favorite 


78  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

aesthetic  doll  in  the  green  gown,  which 
was  knocked  down  to  the  little  shop- 
keeper, whose  affection  for  her  favorite 
customer  led  her  to  reach  the  extrava- 
gant bid  of  two  dollars. 

And  so  the  sale  went  on,  until  poor 
Dorothy  was  absolutely  childless ;  the 
last  dolly  being  borne  away  by  one  of 
her  playfellows  for  the  paltry  sum  of 
twenty-five  cents.  This  doll  was  always 
called  by  Thorpe  senior  "a  masterly 
fragment,''  having  lost  all  its  features, 
a  leg,  and  both  arms.  Perhaps  it  had 
brought  all  it  was  worth  ;  but  it  is  a 
sad  fate,  at  eight  years,  to  own  not  a 
chick  or  a  child ;  and  Dorothy  could 
not  help  calling  the  little  girl  into 
her  sanctum,  where  she  bestowed  a 
tragic  maternal  kiss  upon  her  depart- 
ing darlinsr. 

After  the  dolls,   the   other  toys  were 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  79 

sold;  and  then  came  the  keepsakes. 
Dorothy  clapped  her  hands  over  her 
ears  when  she  heard  the  bids  for  her 
pretty  turquoise  pin  ;  but  as  they  rose 
higher  and  higher,  her  feelings  merged 
into  one  of  extreme  astonishment;  and 
when  it  was  finally  kocked  down,  for 
twenty-five  dollars,  to  Mrs.  Le  Grand, 
who  had  originally  given  it  to  her,  she 
exclaimed,  with  unconscious  rudeness, 
"  That  's  more  than  she  gave  for  it 
in   the  beginning,   I   do  believe." 

There  was  one  thing  about  the  sale 
that  seemed  a  very  curious  coincidence 
to  Dorothy,  which  was  that  each  arti- 
cle should  go  back  into  the  possession 
of  the  giver.  The  Professor  carried 
off  the  bangles  he  had  presented  to 
her  with  so  many  pretty  speeches  on 
her  last  birthday.  And  Mrs.  Le  Grand 
bought   the  watch   as   well   as  the    pin, 


80         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

both  having  been  her  gifts  to  the  little 
girl.  Even  the  pretty  French  lady, 
who  had  "  fallen  in  lofe  "  with  Dorothy 
from  the  windows  of  the  opposite  house, 
had  come  to  the  auction  with  the  others, 
and  had  outbid  them  all  when  the  am- 
ber beads  with  which  she  had  once 
decked  her  little  favorite  were  put  up 
for  sale,  saying,  in  her  funny,  broken 
English,  "  Eets  a  tousand  pitie  ze  leetle 
sing  should  part  wiz  zese,  zey  become 
her  zo  mooch." 

At  last  everything  was  sold,  and  the 
buyers,  laughing  and  chattering,  went 
their  way.  Then  it  was  Dorothy  came 
out  from  her  hiding-place  and  gazed  in 
silence  around  the  room.  All  her  pret- 
ty things  had  gone ;  but  there  was  a 
bright  cheerfulness  in  her  eyes  as  she 
counted  over  the  money  that  had  been 
left  in   their  stead.     Oh,  how  it  would 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  81 

stuff  out  the  lank  sides  of  the  old 
portemonnaie,  and  make  her  papa's 
heart  rejoice ! 

Tommy,  congratulating  her  on  her 
good  luck,  gallantly  escorted  her  to 
her  own  doorstep,  and  sped  home  to 
describe  the  sale  to  his  mother,  who 
had  been  unable  to  be  present. 

"  And  the  jolliest  part  of  it  is,"  cried 
the  boy,  "  that  the  people  have  agreed 
among  themselves  to  return  all  these 
things  to  her  on  her  next  birthday.  Not 
the  children,  of  course ;  but  they  have 
nothing  but  dolls  and  such  rubbish,  and 
so  Dorothy  will  have  the  money  and 
her  things  too.  That's  what  it  is  to 
be  popular  ! " 


CHAPTER   VII. 

|"T  happened  very  curiously  that  just 
as  Dorothy  had  slipped  the  pro- 
ceeds of  her  sale  into  the  portmonnaie 
and  shut  it  up  in  the  drawer,  her  papa 
came  in ;  and  his  first  words  after  kiss- 
ing his  little  girl  were,  "  Dorothy,  my 
darling,  how  much  money  have  we  in 
the  purse  ? " 

Dorothy  was  obliged  to  keep  her  face 
well  out  of  view  as  she  replied,  "  Here 
it  is,  papa !     You  count  it." 

He  sank  down  into  a  chair  and  opened 
the  purse,  saying,  "  It  won't  take  me 
long  I  suspect.  Let  me  see,  here  are 
five,  ten,  fifteen.  Is  that  a  twenty  ? 
Another  ten !     Why,  how  is  this,  child  ? 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  83 

Here  is  a  good  deal  of  money ;  and  the 
last  time  I  asked  you  about  it  we  had 
but  ten  dollars  left." 

"  It  has  been  put  in  since,"  said  Doro- 
thy, demurely.  "  Hold  up  your  head  a 
little  higher,  dear !  I  want  to  fix  your 
necktie  ;  it 's  crooked." 

"  Put  in  since?  Why,  when?  I  don't 
remember,"  cried  poor  papa,  with  his 
head  tipped  at  such  an  angle  that  he 
could  not  see  the  mirthful  gray  eyes, 
nor  catch  the  smile  lurking  around 
Dorothy's  lips,  which  were  pursed  up  in 
a  would-be  primness  while  she  said, — 

"  You  are  so  absent-minded,  almost  as 
bad  as  the  Professor!  Just  think,  this 
morning  he  went  out  with  two  hats  on, — 
his  own  and  Mr.  Waterman's,  which  had 
been  put  on  top  of  it." 

"  But  about  the  money  ?  I  am  not  so 
absent-minded  that  you  can  play  tricks 


84         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

like  this  on  me.  How  did  we  come 
by  it  ?  " 

"  The  trouble  with  you,  papa,  is,  you 
are  either  too  absent-minded  or  not 
absent-minded  enough,"  said  Dorothy, 
laughing;  but  she  proceeded  to  explain 
how  they  came  to  be  so  rich. 

"  Oh,  my  child,"  he  cried  in  a'pained 
voice  when  she  had  told  her  story,  "it 
was  not  necessary  that  you  should  sac- 
rifice your  poor  little  treasures!"  But 
though  he  took  the  little  face  between 
his  hands  and  searched  it  carefully, 
he  could  find  no  shadow  dimming  its 
radiance. 

"  Don't  you  think  it's  nice  that  we 
can  pay  Mrs.  Kipp?"  she  said,  in  her 
sunny  fashion.  "  I  thought  that  would 
give  you  pleasure." 

"  Truly  it  does.  She  cannot  afford 
to  wait  for  her  money,  and  now  we  can 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  85 

pay  her  up  to  the  end  of  this  week  and 
yet  have  quite  a  sum  left." 

They  counted  the  bills  over  together ; 
Mr.  Thorpe  too  touched  by  the  child's 
love  and  courage  to  spoil  her  pleasure 
by  useless  regret.  He  gave  her  the  joy 
of  knowing  that  her  generosity  had 
really  brought  him  relief. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Kipp  will  be  right  glad  of 
this,"  said  Dorothy  thoughtfully,  touch- 
ing the  pile  of  money  on  the  table  in 
front  of  her.  "  That  gentleman  with 
the  big  beard  and  the  diamond  ring 
went  away  without  paying  his  board, 
but  she  would  never  let  us  know  if  she 
needed  it  ever  so  much,  dear  good 
Auntie  Kipp !  Do  you  know,  papa,  she 
is  almost  too  good  to  me  ? "  the  little  girl 
resumed  after  a  pause.  "  It  makes  me 
feel  bashful  sometimes  when  she  saves 
all  the  best  things  at  the  table  for  me; 


86         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

and  I  am  sure  the  other  boarders  don't 
like  it." 

"  Nonsense,  child  !  they  don't  care." 
"  Oh  yes,  papa,  I  heard  all  the  little 
old  ladies  talking  together  about  it  in 
the  parlor.  There  was  Mrs.  Smith  and 
Mrs.  Green  and  little  Miss  Miller,  and 
Miss  Miller  said  that  Mrs.  Kipp  always 
gives  her  the  back  of  the  chicken. 
'  When  she  serves  the  pie,'  Mrs.  Smith 
said,"  went  on  Dorothy,  "  '  she  cuts  off  a 
whole  quarter  of  a  one  for  that  child, 
and  she  sends  me  a  little  sliver  no  big- 
ger than  that!'''"  and  Dorothy,  who  had 
unconsciously  mimicked  the  voice  of 
Mrs.  Smith,  now  marked  off  the  differ- 
ent sizes  of  the  pie  on  her  hand,  in  such 
good  imitation  of  the  impressive  manner 
of  the  indignant  boarder  that  Mr.  Thorpe 
threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"  Well,  it's  too  bad  to  make  fun  of  poor 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  87 

Mrs.  Smith,"  resumed  Dorothy,  happy  to 
see  her  father  in  such  good  spirits,  "  for 
she  is  a  very  nice  old  lady,  after  all. 
This  morning  when  I  carried  her  one 
of  the  roses  the  Professor  brought  me, 
she  kissed  me  just  as  warmly  as  if  I 
hadrit  had  more  than  my  share  of  the 
pie.  Mrs.  Green  and  Miss  Miller  are 
nice  too,  and  I  'm  sorry  they  have  the 
back  of  the  chicken.  If  I  always  had  it, 
I  dare  say  I  should  make  a  fuss  too." 

"  You  would  never  know  it,  my  girl," 
cried  papa,  catching  Dorothy  up  and 
kissing  her. 

"But  if  I  did  I  wouldn't  like  it," 
laughed  the  child.  "  I  should  think 
sometimes  it  ought  to  go  to  your 

"  Dorothy,  you  are  a  fraud.  You 
know  you  would  n't  care  a  farthing,  and 
you  only  say  so  to  excuse  those  greedy 
old  ladies." 


88  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

"  Not  greedy,  — oh  no,  papa,"  Dorothy 
protested  eagerly;  "you  mustn't  think 
they  are  greedy." 

"  Then  why  do  they  grumble,  my 
dear  ?  " 

"  I  think  their  feelings  are  hurt,  —  that 
must  be  the  reason,  papa,  —  and  it 's 
awful  to  have  your  feelings  hurt,  you 
know.  I  shall  tell  Auntie  Kipp  that 
such  big  pieces  of  pie  will  make  me 
ill.  Perhaps  I  had  better  go  now,  so 
I  shall  be  sure  not  to  forget  it." 

That  evening  was  the  pleasantest 
Thorpe  and  Company  had  passed  since 
their  troubles  began.  It  was  such  a 
relief  to  be  out  of  debt  again  that 
Dorothy's  spirits  rose  to  their  usual 
level.  Herr  von  Stein  was  brought 
out,  and  made  merry  music  once  more 
for  his  two  friends.  I  say  once  more, 
for    he    had    been    able   of    late  to  dis- 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  89 

course  only  in  such  sad  tones  that  it 
quite  gave  one  the  blues  to  listen  to 
him;  but  it  was  evident  that  to-night 
he  was  in  a  very  different  mood. 
Dorothy  sat  on  a  foot-stool  at  her 
father's  feet  while  he  played ;  and  it 
really  seemed  to  her  that  Herr  von 
Stein  was  trying  to  comfort  them. 
"  Life  now  is  rough  and  stormy,"  he 
sang,  "  but  presently  it  will  flow  on 
again  like  a  sunny  stream  beneath 
kind  skies.  Only  continue,  little  Dor- 
othy, to  love  and  trust,  and  all  will 
be  well." 

The  money  left  in  the  purse  did 
not  hold  out,  however,  as  long  as  Dor- 
othy had  anticipated,  and  very  soon  it 
seemed  to  her  the  time  came  when  she 
was  obliged  to  own,  in  answer  to  her 
father's  inquiry,  that  it  was  all  gone. 

It    is    marvellous    what     a    cheerful 


90  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

manner  they  immediately  assumed,  al- 
though they  carefully  explored  every 
chink  in  the  old  portemonnaie. 

"  Now,  you  see,  there  is  plenty  of 
room  for  some  more,"  Dorothy  ob- 
served, as  she  stretched  it  open  till 
its  numerous  compartments  seemed  like 
so  many  gaping  mouths. 

To  fill  these  the  books  were  finally 
sold ;  and  worse  even  than  this,  oh 
much  worse,  Herr  von  Stein  was  in 
pawn.  Dorothy  wept  many  bitter 
tears  while  thinking  of  their  beauti- 
ful friend,  broken-hearted  no  doubt  in 
the  dirty  little  shop  of  a  pawnbroker; 
and  if  she  felt  it  so  deeply,  what  then 
were  her  father's  feelings,  when  so  many 
tender  associations  clustered  around  the 
instrument  ?  This  money  too  was  fast 
slipping  away,  and  it  daily  became  more 
difficult   for    Thorpe    and   Company   to 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  91 

confront  life  with  a  brave  heart  and  a 
smiling  face.  In  vain  Dorothy  looked 
over  her  remaining  trinkets  for  any- 
thing of  value  to  dispose  of.  There 
was  nothing  but  her  mother's  ring ;  and 
when  she  brought  it  out  one  day  and 
offered  it  to  her  father,  he  covered  his 
eyes  and  groaned. 

"  No,  Dorothy,  not  yet." 

All  this  was  painful  enough ;  but 
Dorothy  comforted  herself  with  the 
thought  that  the  following  month  "  our 
case "  would  be  tried,  and  after  that 
she  believed  there  would  be  no  more 
troubles  of  this  sort.  How  glad  she 
would  be  to  have  the  old  comfortable 
salary  every  month !  Yes,  comfortable, 
even  though  she  did  have  to  pinch 
here  and  there  to  make  it  cover  their 
needs.  She  had  at  first  thought  it 
strange    that    her   papa,    after   his    dis- 


92  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

charge  from  Jonathan  Black  &  Brother's, 
had  not  sought  another  position,  and 
had  asked  him  in  some  surprise  if  he 
did  not  mean  to  find  one.  The  an- 
swer was  made  in  a  tone  that  told 
how  painful  it  was  to  explain  to  her  that 
no  one  would  employ  a  man  who  is 
suspected  of  dishonesty. 

Dorothy  would  have  borne  a  great 
deal  of  discomfort  rather  than  ask  the 
question  had  she  known  it  would  give 
her  father  pain,  and  she  instantly  re- 
solved to  ask  him  no  more.  This 
resolution  the  child  bravely  kept,  puz- 
zling by  herself  over  matters  which  she 
was  supposed  to  be  too  young  to  think 
of  at  all.  The  truth  is  that  Dorothy 
did  not  wish  to  speak  to  others  of  this 
trouble,  and  if  broached,  put  the  sub- 
ject aside  in  a  manner  of  her  own  at 
once  proud  and  gentle. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  93 

Even  yet  I  have  not  recounted  all 
the  little  girl's  worries.  Among  these 
her  father's  cough  took  a  conspicuous 
place,  for  it  was  rapidly  growing  worse, 
and  no  remedies  brought  relief.  In 
her  anxiety  Dorothy  would  have  bought 
all  of  these  that  she  heard  of ;  but  this 
would  require  money,  and  there  was 
none  to  spare.  Mr.  Thorpe  never  wore 
gloomy  looks  in  the  presence  of  Dor- 
othy ;  but  she  was  sure  he  was  not 
as  cheerful  as  he  would  have  her  be- 
lieve, knowing,  poor  little  soul !  that  it 
is  possible  to  smile  and  jest  when  there 
is  nothing  in  the  mind  but  care  and 
trouble. 

One  evening  while  she  sat  looking 
wistfully  at  him,  he  suddenly  said, 
"  Dorothy,  you  wish  to  ask  me  some- 
thing. What  is  it,  darling  ?  "  And 
when  she  shook   her  head    he  was  not 


94  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

convinced,  for  love  gave  him  a  power 
to  look  right  into  her  heart,  and  he 
added,  "  You  wish  to  ask  me  some- 
thing about  the  case." 

So  she  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder 
and  whispered,  "  Has  Tommy  Dow's 
father  found  out  who  took  the  money  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  was  the  answer ;  "  but  we 
must  not  be  discouraged,  dear." 

There  was  still  another  question  trem- 
bling on  her  lips,  but  the  child  did  not 
ask  it.  She  talked  about  other  things, 
avoiding  any  subject  which  would  bear 
upon  this  one,  privately  wondering  how- 
ever, in  her  own  heart,  what  would  hap- 
pen to  her  father  and  herself  if  Tommy 
Dow's  father  did  not  gain  the  case. 

The  following  morning  Dorothy  and 
Tommy  went  together  for  a  walk. 
They  rambled  over  the  Common  and 
then  to  the   Public  Garden,  where  they 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  95 

stood  long  and  watched  the  boats  on 
the  Pond,  and  then  homeward  along 
Beacon  Street,  their  faces  turned  toward 
the  State  House.  The  fine  old  street 
was  gay  that  pleasant  spring  morning 
with  carriages  dashing  along  its  length, 
gay  dames  fluttering  hither  and  thither, 
and  the  dear  babies  toddling  on  the 
pavement  with  their  white-capped  nurses. 
The  sunlight  was  checkered  by  the 
great  elms  of  the  Beacon  Street  mall  on 
the  Common,  and  here  and  there  in 
front  of  the  houses  were  beds  of  crocus, 
making  patches  of  bright  colors.  It  did 
not  seem  that  care  and  sorrow  ever  in- 
vaded these  cheerful  dwellings.  One  of 
the  finest  of  these  Tommy  pointed  out 
as  being  the  home  of  Judge  Hartwell. 

"  Your  case  is  going  to  be  tried  before 
him.  I  heard  father  say  so,  and  I  heard 
him  say  something  else  too ;  and  that  is," 


96  Dear  Dazighter  Dorothy. 

continued  the  boy,  as  Dorothy,  notwith- 
standing her  curiosity,  remained  silent, 
—  "  that  is,  he  does  not  at  all  expect  to 
gain  it.  He  says  your  father  has  n't  a 
leg  to  stand  on." 

"  Why,  I  should  think  not  having 
taken  the  money,"  cried  poor  little 
Dorothy,  "  would  be  a  very  good  leg  to 
stand  on." 

"  It  may  seem  so,"  Tommy  admitted, 
"  but  that  does  n't  count  for  much.  The 
fact  is  the  money  has  been  stolen,  and 
somebody  must  be  punished." 

Here  at  last  was  the  opportunity  to 
settle  the  question  that  had  so  puzzled 
Dorothy.  She  looked  anxiously  at 
Tommy's  sturdy  back  as  he  marched  on 
ahead  whistling  a  merry  air.  Small 
boys,  as  a  rule,  are  not  troubled  by  too 
tender  sympathies,  and  it  would  not 
pain  him  to  answer  her  question. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  97 

With  a  mighty  effort  little  Dorothy 
summoned  all  her  courage.  "  Tommy,'1 
she  said,  "  you  know  everything  about 
law ;  tell  me  what  will  they  do  to  papa 
if  we  lose  the  case  ? " 

"  Send  him  to  state-prison,"  was  the 
prompt  and  cheerful  reply. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course.  When  I  am  a  man 
I  shall  be  a  lawyer  myself,  and  I  know 
now  just  what  will  be  done.  See  now, 
Dorothy,  if  all  does  not  happen  like  this! 
He  will  be  tried  before  the  judge  next 
May,  and  if  the  jury  —  " 

"And  what  is  that?"  asked  the 
child. 

"  Why,  the  twelve  men  who  after  the 
witnesses  are  examined  will  decide 
whether  your  father  is  guilty  or  not." 

"  And  who  are  the  witnesses  ?  " 

"  They  are  the  people  who  tell  what 
7 


98  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

they  know  about  the  case.  Maybe  you 
will  be  called  as  a  witness." 

"  If  I  am,  then  there  will  be  no  need 
of  any  others,  for  I  can  tell  them  all 
about  it.  I  know  that  papa  did  n't  take 
the  money." 

"  Well,  there  will  be  plenty  of  others, 
you  '11  find  ;  but  father  says  he  hopes 
you  won't  be  called,  for  children  are  sure 
to  let  out  something  that  had  best  be 
kept  quiet." 

"  I  cannot  do  that,  for  there  is  nothing 
to  let  out,"  said  Dorothy,  rather  proudly. 

But  Tommy  continued  heedless  of  the 
interruption  :  "  And  so,  after  all  the  wit- 
nesses have  testified,  the  jury  will  decide 
whether  or  not  your  father  is  guilty,  and 
if  guilty,  the  judge  will  pronounce  this 
sentence,  —  to  serve  so  many  years  in 
state-prison.  In  my  opinion,  the  judge 
does  n't  amount  to  much  anyhow,"  added 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.  99 

this  future  ornament  to  the  legal  pro- 
fession. "  So  far  as  I  can  see  he  has 
nothing  to  do  but  to  sentence  the 
criminals." 

Tommy  walked  on  briskly  for  a  few 
paces,  and  %  then  commenting  on  his 
companion's  surprising  dolefulness,  pro- 
posed a  race  home.  Dorothy  assented; 
but  when  Tommy  reached  the  goal  she 
was  nowhere  within  sight. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

T^OROTHY  had  not  cared  to  win 
the  race,  for  what  Tommy  Dow 
had  said  filled  her  mind  with  alarm. 
She  began  to  fear  that  she  had  been 
mistaken  in  Tommy  Dow's  father,  and 
that  perhaps,  notwithstanding  his  gen- 
erosity at  the  time  when  Marthy  Ann's 
shop  was  first  opened,  he  was  not  so 
good  a  lawyer  as  she  had  believed.  She 
was  distressed  that  he  did  not  wish 
her  for  a  witness,  being  quite  sure  she 
could  make  everybody  understand  that 
Thorpe  and  Company  had  never  been 
guilty  of  dishonesty. 

For  some  time  she  stood  looking  re- 
flectively  down    the    street,   and    then 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         101 

walked  resolutely  back  to  the  house  that 
had  been  pointed  out  to  her  as  Judge 
Hartwell's. 

After  mounting  the  steps  and  giving 
the  bell  a  sharp  pull,  she  was  admitted 
to  the  vestibule  by  a  colored  man, 
who  informed  her  that  the  Judge  was 
within. 

"  Then  please  go  and  tell  him  that  a 
person  wants  to  see  him  on  business," 
said  Dorothy. 

"He,  he!"  giggled  the  black  gentle- 
man ;  "  I  'se  right  sorry,  but  I  cawn't. 
No,  marm,  I  'se  not  to  'sturb  de  Judge 
on  no  account  whatever.  Dem  is  his 
special  orders." 

"  Well,  I  must  see  him,"  persisted  the 
"  person  "  in  a  sweet,  soft  voice ;  "  so  I 
think  I  '11  come  in  and  wait." 

There  was  a  large  hall-chair  just  in- 
side,   and     Dorothy    walked    calmly    in 


102        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

and  seated  herself  upon  it.     "  I  've  come 
on  business,  you  see,"  she  explained. 

She  looked  so  very  small  in  that  big 
chair,  and  her  grave  manner  contrasted 
so  oddly  with  the  infantine  face  in  its 
muslin  cap,  that  the  man  leaned  against 
the  wall  and  laughed.  Dorothy  was 
wondering  what  the  joke  might  be, 
when  the  servant  suddenly  became  as 
solemn  as  an  owl,  and  she  was  conscious 
of  the  figure  of  a  gentleman  standing 
in  the  doorway  directly  opposite  to  her. 

u  Dis  pusson,  sah,  wishes  to  see  you 
on  business,  sah,"  said  the  servant,  with 
his  eyes  rolling  in  the  direction  of  Dor- 
othy. "  I  tole  her  you  was  busy  dis 
arfternoon.' 

Dorothy  looked  curiously  at  Judge 
Hartwell,  and  thought  him  a  very  large 
and  imposing-looking  gentleman,  for  he 
had    a    commanding    manner   and    the 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        103 

air  of  a  person  who  is  accustomed  to 
be  obeyed.  His  hair  and  beard  were 
iron-gray.  He  had  a  hooked  nose,  and 
eyes  that  looked  searchingly  at  her 
from  under  bushy  eyebrows. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dorothy,  "  it  was  n't  his 
fault  at  all.  He  told  me  that  you 
would  n't  see  me,  but  I  would  come 
in.  I  meant  to  wait,  though,  until 
it  was  convenient  for  you.  I  did  n't 
mean  to  disturb  you  now.  Had  I  bet- 
ter wait  here,  or  go  home  and  come 
back  again  by  and  by?" 

"As  you  are  already  here,  why  not 
tell  me  at  once  what  you  want?" 

"What,  here,  in  this  hall!"  cried 
Dorothy,  looking  at  the  waiter,  who 
had  been  listening  with  much  inter- 
est and  amusement  to  what  she  said. 
"  Well,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  told 
you  that  I  came  on  private  business." 


104        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

She  looked  at  him  so  solemnly,  and 
with  such  evident  belief  in  the  impor- 
tance of  her  errand,  that  after  staring 
at  her  for  a  moment,  the  Judge  found 
himself  saying,  "Well,  well,  child,  come 
with  me !  " 

He  led  the  way  through  several  large 
rooms  into  one  in  which  stood  a  dining- 
table.  The  cloth  had  been  removed, 
and  there  was  nothing  upon  it  but  a 
filigree  silver  basket  of  fruit.  The  air 
was  full  of  smoke,  and  it  was  evident 
that  the  Judge  had  here  been  enjoying 
his  after-dinner  cigar. 

He  placed  a  chair  for  his  visitor, 
who  was  obliged  to  give  an  undignified 
jump  to  get  into  it;  but  once  ensconced 
in  its  depth  she  had  a  very  sedate  air, 
and  proceeded  to  explain,  in  a  soft  but 
earnest  little  voice,  the  object  of  her 
visit. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        105 

"  Tommy  Dow,  who  knows  every- 
thing about  law,  tells  me  that  you  are 
to  be  the  judge  in  our  case,"  she  began. 

"  Your  case,  eh  ? "  said  the  Judge, 
smiling  a  little  in  a  grave  sort  of  way. 
"  A  case  of  importance,  no  doubt  ? " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  answered  Dorothy  ;  "  a 
case  of  'bezzlement.  It 's  a  very  queer 
case,  because  the  real  'bezzler  can't  be 
found,  and  in  the  mean  time,  you  know, 
they  accuse  us." 

The  Judge  had  not  seated  himself, 
but  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire- 
place, looking  down  very  sharply  at 
poor  little  Dorothy.  It  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  as  she  stopped,  he 
could  only  say,  with  a  perplexed  frown, 
"  Upon  my  word,  child,  I  don't  know 
what  you  are  talking  about." 

"  Well,  never  mind  !  "  was  the  encour- 
aging  reply.     "  I   did  n't  understand  it, 


106        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

either,  at  first ;  but  Tommy  Dow, 
who  knows  everything  about  law,  ex- 
plained it  to  me,  and  I  am  going  to 
explain  it  to  you.  You  see  we  used  to 
be  book-keeper  for  Jonathan  Black  & 
Brother." 

"Jonathan  Black  &  Brother?"  re- 
peated the  Judge,  recognizing  the  name 
of  a  well-known  firm.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  say  you  kept  their  books  ?  " 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  didn't  really; 
but  papa  did,  and  so  it  seems  just  as  if  I 
did  too,"  said  the  child.  "  If  you  don't 
mind,  I  think  I  '11  say  we,  because  I  'm 
so  used  to  it.  A  little  while  ago  we 
lost  our  position  at  Jonathan  Black  & 
Brother's.  They  accused  us  of  steal- 
ing their  money  —  they  call  it  'bezzling 
—  but  I  am  going  to  make  it  just  as 
easy  as  I  can  for  you ;  and  these  queer 
words  mix  one  up  so.     It 's  all  a  mis- 


Dear  Daughter  Dorot/iy.         107 

take,  of  course  ;  but  Tommy  Dow's 
father,  who  is  our  lawyer,  has  not  been 
able  to  find  out  who  took  the  money, 
and  it  may  be  that  he  won't  find  out 
at  all.  It  would  not  matter  so  much 
about  that,  if  he  would  only  'low  me 
to  be  a  witness.  I  suppose  you  know 
what  a  witness  is  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Judge,  meekly,  "  I 
know  that  much." 

"  If  I  could  only  be  a  witness,  I 
could  explain  to  those  twelve  men  who 
decide  everything,  that  we  did  n't  take 
the  money.  It  would  save  them  ever 
so  much  trouble,  I  am  sure.  But  you 
see  how  it  is,"  went  on  Dorothy,  eager- 
ly ;  "and  so  I  thought  perhaps,  as  Tom- 
my Dow  says  you  don't  have  very  much 
to  do,  you  would  be  willing  to  explain  it 
to  them  for  me." 

As    the    Judge  slowly    realized   what 


io8        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

the  child  really  meant,  his  face  as- 
sumed a  very  stern  expression. 

"  What  is  your  name  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Dorothy  Thorpe." 

"  Did  your  mother  know  that  you 
were  coming  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Dorothy,  "  my  mamma 
is  dead !  There  is  no  one  but  papa 
and  me." 

"  And  did  he  know  you  were 
coming? " 

"  No  ;  and  neither  did  Tommy  Dow. 
It  was  private  business,  you  know.  It's 
just  a  secret  between  us"  She  said  this 
with  the  most  confiding  little  air  in  the 
world;  but  Judge-  Hartwell  went  on, 
severely,  — 

"  It  was  a  very  wrong  thing  for 
you  to  do,  —  very  wrong  indeed!  One 
should  not  try  to  influence  the  opin- 
ion of  the   judge.     You  are   too  young 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         109 

to  understand  that ;  but,  at  least,  little 
girls  should  know  that  they  must  not 
meddle  in  the  affairs  of  older  people." 

"  Oh  !  but  don't  you  see,"  cried  Dor- 
othy, "  this  is  just  as  much  my  affair 
as  papa's  ?  Why,  he  feels  it  even  more 
for  me  than  he  does  for  himself,  —  he 
said  so.  Oh,  yes ;  half  of  it  is  my 
affair,  I  'm  sure.  But  of  course  I 
would  n't  have  come  if  I  had  known 
that  it  would  trouble  you  so.  Have 
I  influenced  your  'pinion  very  much  ?" 
she  inquired  anxiously. 

"  Well,  perhaps  not,"  replied  the 
Judge,  smiling  a  little.  "  But  if  I  had 
realized  that  this  was  anything  but 
child's  play,  I  would  not  have  listened 
to  a  word  you  have  said.  Now  I  will 
give  you  these  oranges  to  take  home, 
and  we  will  say  good-by." 

He  took  a  couple  of  the  largest  ones 


1 1  o        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

from  the  dish,  and  offered  them  to  the 
child  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  don't  think  I  will  take  them,  al- 
though they  are  splendid  oranges ;  and 
I  'm  ever  so  much  obliged  to  you  for 
thinking  of  it,"  Dorothy  managed  to 
say  in  spite  of  her  quivering  lips.  "  I 
guess  I  'm  a  little  —  a  little  nervious." 

The  Judge  was  quite  unaccustomed 
to  children,  but  he  understood  very  well 
how  Dorothy  felt.  He  could  see  that 
she  wanted  to  cry,  and  was  exercising 
all  her  self-control  to  speak  calmly,  and 
he  was  very  grateful  to  her  for  sparing 
him  a  scene.  It  even  occurred  to  him 
that  he  would  like  to  comfort  this  brave 
little  girl  who  was  struggling  so  he- 
roically with  her  disappointment.  But 
what  can  be  done  for  a  child  that  re- 
fuses oranges? 

Fortunately,    Dorothy    had   now    en- 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         1 1 1 

tirely  recovered  herself.  "  I  will  go 
right  away,"  she  said  in  quite  a  steady 
voice ;  "  but  I  would  like  to  ask  you  a 
question."  She  got  out  of  the  large 
chair,  and  stood  looking  at  him  with 
her  clear  shining  gray  eyes,  the  witch- 
ery of  which  it  was  so  difficult  to  re- 
sist. Gradually  the  stern  look  that 
struck  terror  into  men's  hearts  melted 
away,  and  he  stroked  Dorothy's  soft 
cheek  with  the  reflection  that  he  would 
like  just  such  a  winsome  little  creature 
as  a  child  of  his  own. 

Children  are  skilful  readers  of  faces, 
and  Dorothy  knew  she  might  ven- 
ture to  ask  her  question.  "  It  's  about 
something  Tommy  Dow  told  me,"  she 
said. 

"  Tommy  Dow,  who  knows  every- 
thing about  law,   I  suppose  ?  " 

Dorothy    nodded.     "  But    I  hope    he 


ii2       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

made  a  mistake  this  time ;  indeed  I 
think  he  did,  for  he  said  that  if  we  do 
not  gain  our  case,"  —  here  the  little 
voice  trembled,  —  "  they  will  send  my 
papa  to  state-prison.     Is  that  true  ?  " 

"  It  's  not  yet  time  to  think  of  that," 
was  the  evasive  reply. 

"  Oh,  but  it  's  ever  so  much  better 
for  persons  to  know  the  truth,  so  that 
they  can  —  well,  try  and  make  up  their 
minds  to  things,"  said  Dorothy,  gravely. 
"  It  takes  a  long  while  to  make  up  your 
mind  that  your  father  may  go  to  state- 
prison,  you  know.  So  please  tell  me 
if  there  is  any  danger  of  it." 

"  Bless  my  soul,  if  I  were  ever  in 
such  an  awkward  predicament ! "  said 
the  Judge  to  himself,  walking  up  and 
down  the  room  in  excitement.  "  I 
won't    answer    the   child." 

But  he  was  spared  this  task,  for  Dor- 


She  looked  at  the  judge,  who  had  come  back  to  his  old  place  by  the  mantelpiece, 
and  was  watching  her  anxiously.  —  Page  113. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         1 1 3 

othy  had  already  guessed  by  his  silence 
that  what  she  had  feared  was  true. 
How  cruel  it  seemed  that  such  a  thing 
could  be !  Dorothy  felt  that  she  could 
not  bear  it  if  the  father  she  loved  so 
dearly  were  thus  unjustly  punished  and 
disgraced.  But  no,  she  told  herself, 
she  would  not  think  of  such  a  thins: 
for  it  could  not  be  possible. 

She  looked  at  the  Judge,  who  had 
come  back  to  his  old  place  by  the 
mantelpiece  and  was  watching  her 
anxiously. 

"  Does  it  ever  happen,"  she  asked 
eagerly,  "  that  those  twelve  men  make 
a  mistake  ?  Oh,  do  you  think  you 
have  ever  sent  the  wrong  person  to 
state-prison  ? " 

"  I  hope  not,  my  dear.  Heaven  help 
me!  I  hope  not,"  said  the  Judge, 
fervently. 


ii4        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

"  But  does  it  ever  happen,  —  could 
it  happen  ?  "  she  urged. 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  drew  the 
child  towards  him,  having  forgotten  his 
"  awkward  predicament "  in  his  pity 
for  her. 

"  Come,  come,  my  dear,  don't  trouble 
your  little  head  over  such  disagreeable 
questions  !  "  he  said  kindly.  "  A  little 
girl  like  you  should  be  at  play  with 
her  dolls.  What  you  need  is  a  hand- 
some new  one,  eh,  my  dear  ?  " 

A  new  doll  ?  No,  Dorothy  had  no 
heart  to  think  of  toys ;  and  this  in  her 
patient  way  she  tried  to  tell  Judge  Hart- 
well.  All  her  thoughts  were  fixed  upon 
the  question  which  he  had  left  un- 
answered, and  to  which  she  returned 
with  gentle  persistence.  The  Judge 
was  finally  obliged  to  admit  that  such 
a  thing  as  she  suggested  was  possible; 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        1 1 5 

but  he  made  light  of  her  fears,  and  in 
a  kind  and  even  tender  way  tried  to 
reassure  her.  Although  she  listened 
carefully  to  what  he  was  saying,  it  was 
easy  to  see  there  was  still  something  on 
the  child's  mind. 

"  Well,  I  am  ever  so  much  obliged  to 
you,"  she  said  at  last,  when  he  paused. 
"  I  am  sure  it  was  very  good  of  you 
when  you  were  so  busy  to  see  me  at  all, 
and  I've  stayed  a  long  time  already; 
but — I  hope  you  won't  think  I'm  very 
troublesome  —  before  I  go  I  want  to 
ask  you  a  favor." 

"That's  riorht,  that's  ri^ht ! "  The 
Judge  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket, 
as  he  spoke,  hoping  that  she  had  re- 
pented of  her  refusal  of  the  new  doll. 
"  I  shall  be  glad  to  give  you  anything 
you  want.  What  shall  it  be,  my 
dear?" 


1 1 6        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

"It  will  be  a  fi?'oniise"  was  the  eager 
reply.  "  I  want  you  to  promise  that  if 
you  send  papa  to  state-prison  you  will 
send  me  there  too." 

"Tut,  tut!"  cried  the  Judge;  "we 
don't  send  innocent  little  girls  to  state- 
prison." 

"  But  you  must  not  send  him  there 
alone"  protested  the  child;  "  it  would  be 
cruel,  and  besides  it  would  not  be  fair. 
If  he  'bezzled,  why  then  I  'bezzled  too, 
for  we  do  everything  together.  We  are 
Thorpe  and  Company,  and  belong  to- 
gether. Oh ! "  cried  Dorothy,  tears  for 
the  first  time  coming  into  her  gentle 
eyes,  "  papa  is  sick,  and  there  will  be  no 
one  there  to  take  care  of  him,  —  no  one 
to  give  him  his  cough-drops,  or  to  see 
that  his  necktie  is  straight.  He  will 
always  get  it  on  crooked.     I  must  go." 

"  My  dear  child,"  groaned  the  Judge, 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         1 1 7 

"  this  is  out  of  the  question.  You 
must  ask  some  other  favor.  There, 
there  !  don't  worry  any  more  about  it. 
It  will  all  come  out  right,  no  doubt ;  and 
if  your  father  is  convicted,  you  shall 
come  and  live  with  me,  and  I  will  give 
you  everything  you  want." 

"  I  don't  want  anything  but  to  be 
with  papa.  Just  think  how  lonesome 
he  would  be  there  without  me!  I  know 
there  will  be  the  other  prisoners,  but 
they  will  none  of  them  be  me,  you  know. 
Oh,  I  shall  be  ever  so  much  obliged  to 
you  if  you  will  only  send  me  too ! " 

Judge  Hartwell  tried  his  best  to 
soothe  the  excited  little  girl,  but  Doro- 
thy noticed  that  he  did  not  give  the 
promise  she  had  asked  of  him.  There 
being  now  no  longer  an  object  in  re- 
maining, in  a  trembling  voice  she  bade 
the  Judge  good-by. 


1 1 8        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

As  she  got  up,  she  was  surprised  to 
find  herself  shaking  from  head  to  foot; 
but  she  tried  to  smile,  noticing  that  he 
was  watching  her  with  a  very  troubled 
air.  A  smile,  however,  is  not  to  be 
managed  with  eyes  brimming  with  tears 
and  a  quivering  mouth,  and  Dorothy 
held  out  her  hand  instead.  The  tears 
dropped  down  from  her  lashes  on  to  her 
cheeks ;  but  others  quickly  filled  her 
eyes,  so  that  she  could  not  see  the  black 
waiter  as  he  opened  the  door  for  her, 
nor  knew  that  the  Judge  had  followed 
her,  and  that  he  was  standing  by  the 
portiere  where  she  had  first  seen  him. 
The  fresh  air  from  the  street  cooled  her 
hot  cheeks,  and  Dorothy  moved  quick- 
ly forward,  and  somehow  —  she  never 
could  tell  exactly  how  it  happened  — 
she  fell  from  the  top  step  and  lay  a 
sad  little  heap  on  the  sidewalk  below. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

"POR  a  brief  moment,  as  she  lay  upon 
the  pavement,  Dorothy  had  a  dim 
sense  of  the  Judge  bending  over  her,  and 
then  lost  all  consciousness  of  her  sur- 
roundings. When  she  recovered  her- 
self, she  was  lying  on  a  large  bed  in  a 
splendid  chamber.  The  Judge  was 
here  too,  and  with  him  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed  another  man  who  was  saying, 
"  It  is  rather  a  bad  sprain,  and  she  had 
better  not  be  moved  for  a  day  or  two ; 
but  it 's  nothing  serious,  nothing  at  all. 
Ah !  she  has  come  to.  How  do  you 
feel,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  well,  thank  you,  and  I 
must  get  right  up  and  go  home.  Papa 
will  be  worried." 


1 20       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

But  the  first  movement  caused  such 
a  sharp  twinge  of  pain  that  she  sank 
back  with  a  very  pale  little  face  against 
the  pillow. 

"  We  will  send  word  to  your  father 
where  to  find  you,"  the  Judge  told  her 
kindly. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  other  gentleman, 
who  was  apparently  a  doctor,  "  we  must 
bandage  the  ankle." 

This  proved  to  be  a  painful  process ; 
but  Dorothy  bore  it  bravely,,  although 
her  puckered  brow  told  how  she  suffered. 

"  There !  she  has  fainted  a^ain," 
groaned  the  Judge,  as  the  doctor  deftly 
finished  the  operation. 

"  A  fine  child,  sir !  "  said  the  other, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  composedly 
and  admiring  his  patient.  "  All  nerve 
and  will  power.  Oh,  she  will  come  to  in 
a  moment   or  so ;    then  give  her  some 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        1 2  1 

sherry  wine,  and  keep  the  bandage  wet. 
I  bid  you  good-day,  sir;"  and  the  doc- 
tor bowed  himself  out. 

Left  alone  with  the  unconscious  child, 
the  Judge  was  ill  at  ease.  "  Confounded 
rascal,  that  doctor,  to  go  off  without 
doing  a  thing  to  bring  her  round  !  "  he 
muttered.  He  seized  a  fan,  and  waved 
it  with  such  a  will  that  all  the  soft  curls 
danced  on  Dorothy's  forehead.  Then 
he  took  one  of  the  listless  little  hands, 
and  began  gently  to  chafe  it.  So  pretty 
and  helpless  it  looked  as  it  lay  in  his 
own  big  palm,  that  a  strange  protecting 
and  paternal  feeling  stirred  the  childless 
old  gentleman's  heart.  He  was  still 
chafing  it  when  Dorothy  opened  her 
eyes  and  murmured,  — 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  make  such  a  fuss. 
I  think  I  must  go  home  now  to  papa." 

"Always  '  papa'!  "  grumbled  the  other  ; 


122       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

but  he  gallantly  raised  the  little  hand  to 
his  lips,  for  loyalty  is  a  quality  he  knew 
well  how  to  value.  Then,  after  ques- 
tioning her  as  to  her  father's  name  and 
the  number  of  the  house  and  the  street 
where  they  lived,  he  left  her  to  the  care 
of  the  housekeeper,  who  now  came  in 
with  the  wine,  and  he  hurried  down- 
stairs, to  send  a  servant  for  Mr.  Thorpe. 
This  had  been  a  very  painful  day  for 
Dorothy's  poor  papa.  It  had  begun 
with  a  most  disagreeable  interview  with 
his  lawyer,  who  it  seemed  was  not  really 
convinced  in  his  own  mind  as  to  Mr. 
Thorpe's  innocence;  for  in  the  course 
of  the  conversation  he  intimated  that  if 
he  had  embezzled  the  money  it  would 
be  his  wisest  course  to  confess  it  to 
him,  and  they  would  work  for  a  light 
sentence.  The  insinuation  brought  a 
crimson  flush  to  the  face  of  this   high- 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        123 

spirited  young  man,  and  he  was  so 
disgusted  and  disappointed  in  Tommy 
Dow's  father  that  it  seemed  as  if  he 
could  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
him.  Then  there  was  the  money  ques- 
tion to  vex  him ;  for  it  was  certainly 
galling  not  to  be  able  to  pay  Mr.  Dow 
his  fee  as  soon  as  the  trial  was  over, 
although  the  lawyer  had  agreed  to  wait 
until  a  certain  time,  when  a  sum  of 
money  was  due  Mr.  Thorpe.  In  truth, 
he  was  too  proud  to  relish  being  under 
obligations  to  a  man  who  had  for  a  mo- 
ment  suspected  him  of  a  dishonest  act; 
and  bitterest  of  all,  was  the  thought 
of  Dorothy's  future  unprovided  for. 
Should  the  case  go  against  him,  how 
could  he  leave  her  to  the  charity  of 
Mrs  Kipp,  good  and  generous  though 
she  was  ?  The  money  in  the  portemon- 
naie  had  now  dwindled  to  a  very  small 


124       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

sum ;  and  he  made  up  his  mind,  as  he 
walked  homeward  that  night,  that  he 
would  give  up  his  rooms  on  Sunshine 
Street,  letting  Mrs.  Kipp  tuck  Dorothy 
into  some  unoccupied  corner,  as  he 
knew  well  she  would  willingly  do,  and 
find  cheaper  quarters  for  himself  in  a 
poorer  portion  of  the  city. 

So,  as  he  mounted  Mrs.  Kipp's  steps, 
it  was  with  a  heavy  heart,  thinking  how 
painful  this  news  would  be  to  Dorothy. 
Oddly  enough,  no  Dorothy  came  flying 
down  the  stairs  as  usual  to  meet  him ; 
but  instead  of  her  cheerful  greeting,  a 
note  was  handed  him  by  the  servant, 
with  the  information  that  the  little  girl 
had  been  away  all  day. 

About  dusk  Dorothy  was  awakened 
from  a  refreshing  sleep  by  the  sound  of 
voices  in  an  adjoining  room.  One  was 
the   deep   bass   of  the   Judge,   and    the 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        1 2  5 

other  —  yes,  it  was  certainly  that  of 
her  father ;  quite  distinctly  his  words 
reached  her, — 

"  I  have  but  just  received  your  note, 
Judge  Hartwell,  and  I  do  not  know  how 
to  thank  you  for  the  care  you  have 
taken  of  my  child.  I  hope  to  be  able, 
however,  to  remove  her  at  once." 

"  Impossible,  young  man,  quite  impos- 
sible !  The  doctor  has  advised  her 
remaining,  and  you  will  be  obliged  to 
leave  her  with  me  for  some  days.  You 
may  rest  assured  that  she  will  have 
good  care." 

There  was  a  tone  in  the  Judge's 
voice  that  Dorothy  had  not  heard  be- 
fore. It  was  by  no  means  so  pleasant 
as  the  one  he  had  used  when  he  begged 
her  to  ask  a  favor  of  him,  and  so  differ- 
ent from  the  gentle  accent  of  his  voice 
as  he  bent  over  her  while  she  lay  upon 


126       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

the  sidewalk,  that  it  might  have  be- 
longed to  another  person  altogether. 
She  was  glad  when  her  father  spoke 
again  that  it  was  in  his  proudest 
manner,  — 

"  I  would  much  rather  put  you  to 
no  such  inconvenience  ;  if  however  it 
should  really  be  necessary  for  the  child's 
sake,  I  must  submit  to  place  myself  un- 
der this  obligation  to  you." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!"  replied  the 
other,  rudely.  "  You  need  not  consider 
the  question  of  obligation  ;  I  have  taken 
a  fancy  to  the  child." 

"  May  I  ask  how  the  accident  hap- 
pened ?  I  cannot  understand  how  she 
should  have  been  here  at  all,"  asked 
Mr.  Thorpe,  after  an  awkward  pause. 

"  Well,  she  came  —  ahem  !  on  busi- 
ness." The  Judge  said  this  in  what 
Dorothy  considered  his  kind  voice ;  but 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        127 

it  immediately  changed  again  as  he 
went  on  to  say :  "  On  business  that  you 
and  I,  sir,  had  best  ignore  altogether. 
We  will  see  the  child  in  a  moment,  but 
first  I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to  you." 

There  was  another  pause,  in  which 
Dorothy  could  hear  the  Judge  fidget 
about  the  room;  but  when  the  conversa- 
tion was  resumed  it  was  in  too  low  a 
tone  to  reach  her  ear.  What  he  said 
was  this :  — 

"  I  told  you,  Mr.  Thorpe,  that  I  have 
taken  a  fancy  to  your  little  girl ;  and  it 
was  not,  I  assure  you,  an  idle  compli- 
ment. It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to 
keep  her  with  me;  and  as  you  are  not 
in  a  position  at  present  to  take  care  of  a 
child,  why  not  leave  her  here  until  after 
the  trial  ?  If  the  case  goes  against  you, 
she  will  be  provided  for  until  you  are  at 
liberty  to  take   her  again,  or  leave   her 


1 28        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

permanently  with  me,  as  you  may  decide 
What  do  you  say  to  this  proposition  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  right  or  wish  to  refuse  it, 
sir,"  was  the  answer,  in  a  low,  sad  tone. 
"  Dorothy's  future  welfare  is  now  my 
chief  thought,  and  one  which  has  long 
distressed  me.  If  she  consents  to  it,  I 
shall  not  feel  justified  in  making  any 
opposition." 

Judge  Hart  well  stroked  his  beard 
and  looked  rather  thoughtful  as  he  said, 
"  She  is  evidently  much  attached  to  you, 
and  the  separation  will  be  a  trial  to  her, 
no  doubt ;  but  I  hope  she  will  not  make 
a  great  fuss." 

Mr.  Thorpe  smiled  rather  sadly. 
"  Dorothy  will  not  make  a  fuss.  Oh,  no, 
you  need  not  fear  that !  If  it  breaks 
her  heart,  she  will  do  what  she  thinks 
will  please  me,  and  you  will  hear  no 
complaints.     If  she  refuses  to  stay  with 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        129 

you,  it  will  be  because  of  a  belief  that  I 
need  her.  However,  if  you  leave  it  to 
me,  I  think  I  can  persuade  her  to  do  as 
you  wish.  I  will  not  attempt  to  thank 
you  for  your  kindness  to  her,  but  you 
will  find  that  she  deserves  it." 

The  Judge  now  rose,  and  motioned 
Mr.  Thorpe  to  follow  him.  He  liked 
the  manly  way  Dorothy's  father  had  ac- 
cepted his  offer,  with  no  useless  regrets 
for  the  sacrifice  he  himself  was  called 
upon  to  make.  The  little  girl  he 
thought  had  come  honestly  by  her  gen- 
erous heart  and  winning  manner. 

Presently  the  door  of  Dorothy's  room 
was  softly  opened.  As  her  father  came 
forward,  she  sprang  up  with  a  sunny 
smile  of  welcome,  and  Mr.  Thorpe  kneel- 
ing down  put  his  arms  tenderly  around 
her,  calling  her  by  the  fondest  of  his 
pet  names  for  her.  Whatever  troubles 
9 


130        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

might  be  in  store  for  them,  they  were  at 
that  moment  a  happy  pair. 

"  Oh,  papa,  papa,"  cried  Dorothy,  nest- 
ling still  closer  against  his  breast,  "  I  'm 
so  glad  you  have  come.  We  are  better 
off  than  the  real  'bezzler  after  all,  while 
we  have  each  other.  I  do  hope  he  has 
some  one  to  comfort  him,  don't  you? 
Are  you  going  to  take  me  home  now  ? " 

Mr.  Thorpe  threw  a  hasty  glance  at 
the  Judge,  who  stood  watching  them 
from  the  hall.  As  the  latter  walked 
away,  it  was  with  a  guilty  conscious- 
ness that  Thorpe  and  Company  had  en- 
listed all  his  sympathies  in  their  cause  ; 
and  he  was  obliged  to  reassure  himself 
many  times  by  declaring  that  he  had 
done  no  more  for  little  Dorothy  than 
common  humanity  demanded. 

As  his  footsteps  died  away,  Mr. 
Thorpe  answered  the  child's  question. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         1 3 1 

"You  can't  be  moved  very  well  quite 
yet,"  he  said,  "  and  Judge  Hartwell  is 
kind  enough  to  wish  you  to  remain." 

"  Why,  I  should  think  he  would 
be  afraid  of  my  influencing  his  'pinion 
again.  He  said  that  was  the  reason 
why  I  ought  not  to  have  come  here ; 
and  that  reminds  me,  papa,  aren't  you 
going  to  scold  me  at  all  ?  " 

"  Ah,  you  know  what  a  weak  old  papa 
I  am,  little  one !  I  cant  scold  you,"  he 
said  fondly,  while  he  played  with  her 
sunny  locks  and  wondered  how  he  could 
best  break  the  unpleasant  news  to  her. 

"Well,  after  all,  you  needn't  scold  if 
you  don't  wish  to,"  said  Dorothy,  with 
gracious  indulgence.  "  I  am  already 
sorry  that  I  came.  It  did  no  good,  and 
the  Judge  was  rather  —  well,  he  wasn't 
exactly  polite  —  just  at  first,  you  know. 
If  a  person  makes  a  call  upon  a  person, 


132       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

she  expects  that  other  person  to  be  glad 
to  see  her,  doesn't  she,  papa?  Well,  do 
you  know,  he  was  rit  glad  to  see  me.  I 
found  it  out  directly,  and  it  was  n't 
•agreeable  at  all.  But  I  dare  say  a 
judge  can't  act  like  ordinary  persons, 
because  he  has  to  be  so  careful  about 
his  'pinion.  I  think  he  was  sorry  for 
me  afterward,  although  he  would  n't  do 
what  I  asked  of  him,  and  he  offered  me 
a  new  doll.  Papa,  are  you  paying  at- 
tention to  me? " 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  am  thinking  that  the 
Judge  is  a  very,  very  kind  man,  and  that 
I  shall  have  to  leave  you  with  him 
for  a  while,  —  until  after  the  trial,  for 
instance." 

"  Papa,"  cried  Dorothy,  in  a  frightened 
little  voice,  "  of  course  you  are  joking. 
We  could  rit  be  separated.  We  have 
often  said  so,  you  know ;  that 's  why  they 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        133 

call  us  Thorpe  and  Company.  I  like 
most  jokes,  but  this  one  —  it  hurts  me." 

"  Dorothy  dear,  it  is  n't  a  joke  ;  but 
you  shall  do  as  you  please  about  stay- 
ing," Thorpe  senior  was  forced  into 
saying ;  and  he  kissed  the  white  brow 
under  its  soft  curly  locks,  declaring  to 
himself  that  he  would  not  compel  her 
to  leave  him. 

"  Well,  I  shall  please  not  to,  then. 
Why  should  I  leave  you,  darling  papa  ? 
You  don't  wish  me  to,  I  know." 

"  I  would  keep  you  always  with  me  if 
it  were  best,  but  sometimes,  you  know, 
what  we  like  is  not  for  the  best.  I  can- 
not keep  Mrs.  Kipp's  room  any  longer. 
I  cannot  afford  it ;  but  I  intended  to 
leave  you  with  her  and  take  a  cheaper 
room  elsewhere.  In  that  case  we 
should  be  separated,  Dorothy." 

"  But  who   would   sew  on    your  but- 


134        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

tons?"  cried  the  child,  in  a  triumphant 
tone.  "You  see  you  never  could  take 
care  of  yourself,  dear ;  I  shall  have  to 
go  too." 

But  with  some  difficulty  her  father 
made  her  see  that  this  would  be  incon- 
venient, and  that  if  she  stayed  with 
Judge  Hart  well  it  would  relieve  him  of 
much  anxiety.  When  Dorothy  became 
convinced  of  this,  as  Mr.  Thorpe  had 
foretold,  she  acquiesced  with  her  usual 
sweet  patience,  even  agreeing  to  be  as 
cheerful  as  she  could  out  of  compliment 
to  her  host. 

"  I  think  I  can  manage  it  if  I  do  feel 
sad,"  the  little  girl  declared,  "for  I  have 
had  so  much  practice." 

When,  after  bidding  the  child  good- 
night, Mr.  Thorpe  went  out  into  the 
hall,  he  was  surprised  to  find  Judge 
Hartwell  awaiting  him  there. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        135 

"  Come  as  often  as  you  can  to  see 
Dorothy,"  he  said  to  him  with  grave 
courtesy;  "but  of  course  you  under- 
stand it  is  better  that  you  and  I  should 
not  meet."  Then  he  shook  hands  with 
the  young  man,  and  they  saw  each 
other  no  more  until  the  day  of  the 
trial. 


CHAPTER  X. 

T^VOROTHY  felt  very  sober  as  her 
father  closed  the  door  of  the  un- 
familiar room  and  left  her  alone  in  it. 
It  was  her  first  separation  from  him,  and 
she  could  not  believe  he  would  be  com- 
fortable without  her  care.  However,  if 
she  allowed  herself  to  think  of  this  it 
would  be  impossible  to  keep  her  prom- 
ise. To  be  cheerful  was  a  very  difficult 
part  of  her  task;  but  she  began  by 
bravely  choking  back  her  tears  and  try- 
ing to  look  as  if  she  were  enjoying  her 
visit,  in  case  the  Judge  should  come  in 
again  to  see  her. 

It  was  well  she  did  so,  for  presently 
there  was  a  tap  at  her  door,  and  a  kind 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         137 

voice  inquired  if  she  were  in  the  mood 
to  receive  company.  The  Judge  had 
feared  that  he  would  find  the  little  girl 
with  a  very  long  face,  and  was  much 
gratified  by  her  gracious  welcome.  He 
held  in  his  hand  a  beautiful  doll,  which 
he  placed  on  the  bed  beside  Dorothy, 
who  gave  a  cry  of  delight  and  gathered 
it  into  her  arms  in  a  maternal  manner 
that  the  giver  thought  very  amusing. 

"  Ah ! "  he  said,  as  he  stood  rubbing 
his  hands  in  a  pleased  way  and  watch- 
ing her ;  "  so  my  ancient  friend  has  a 
weakness  for  dolls,  after  all.  Is  it  a 
nice  one,  my  dear?  I  am  not  a  judge 
of  the  article,  and  perhaps  the  clerk 
cheated  me." 

"  Oh,  no,  he  did  n't.  It 's  the  biggest 
doll  and  the  handsomest  one  I  ever 
had,"  was  the  emphatic  reply.  "  Yes, 
it  s    even    more    beautiful    than    Alice 


138       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

Maud,  who  was  my  favorite.  Poor  dear 
thing !  I  was  perfectly  devoted  to  her." 

"  What  happened  to  the  damsel  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  —  I  sold  her,"  answered 
Dorothy. 

"  That  was  being  devoted.  To  whom 
did  you  sell  it  ?  " 

"  To  Professor  Grumpinson." 

"  Then  I  am  not  the  only  old  fellow 
who  buys  dolls,"  said  the  Judge. 
"  I  did  n't  know  Grumpinson  had  a 
family." 

"  Oh,  he  has  n't,"  cried  Dorothy;  "  he 
bought  the  doll  for  himself." 

She  went  on  to  describe  how  the  Pro- 
fessor came  to  be  in  possession  of  the 
lovely  Alice  Maud ;  the  interest  of  the 
Judge  in  her  account  of  the  auction  be- 
ing so  flattering  that  she  confided  many 
of  her  secret  misgivings  on  the  subject 
to  his  ear.     Among  them  was  the  fear 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         1 39 

that  the  Professor  had  bought  the  doll 
merely  to  oblige  herself,  and  not  because 
he  really  wished  it.  She  derived  much 
consolation  from  his  argument  that 
deep  minds  like  the  Professor's  require 
some  means  of  relaxation,  and  that 
Alice  Maud  undoubtedly  furnished  him 
with  wholesome  diversion. 

"  Perhaps  one  reason  that  he  bought 
her  was  because  she  was  his  namesake," 
said  Dorothy. 

"  His  namesake,  eh  ?  Then  the  Pro- 
fessor's name  is  Alice  Maud  Grumpin- 
son,  is  it?"  asked  the  Judge,  with  an  in- 
nocent air. 

"  Why,  no,  of  course  not !  His  name 
is  Thomas.  I  changed  it  a  little,  you 
see.  Papa  says  it  was  n't  compli  —  com- 
plimentary," bringing  out  the  long  word 
with  a  great  effort;  "and  the  next  time 
I    name  a   doll    for  any   one    I    sha'n't 


140       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

change  it  at  all.  I  think  I  '11  name  this 
doll  for  you.  What  is  your  name, 
please  ? " 

"Jonas,"  replied  the  Judge,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

To  give  the  beautiful  creature  such  a 
name  as  this  was  rather  more  than  Dor- 
othy bargained  for;  but  she  would  listen 
to  no  compromise,  and  Jonasine,  which 
she  concluded  was  the  feminine  of  Jonas, 
it  was  christened  upon  the  spot. 

When  night  came  the  little  girl  was 
very  glad  of  the  company  of  Jonasine, 
although  Rosy,  the  good-natured  cham- 
bermaid, slept  on  a  cot  in  the  next 
room,  to  be  within  call.  In  the  morn- 
ing Dorothy's  ankle  was  much  better, 
and  very  soon  she  was  able  to  be  carried 
downstairs  by  Samuel,  the  colored  man, 
who  was  always  ready  to  dance  attend- 
ance upon  "  the  little  pusson." 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        141 

No  parent  could  be  kinder  than 
Judge  Hartwell  was  to  Dorothy.  It 
seemed  as  if  there  were  no  end  to  the 
pleasant  surprises  he  planned  for  her; 
and  as  for  presents,  —  why,  he  fairly  ran- 
sacked the  shops  for  such  toys  as  he 
thought  would  please  her,  and  brought 
home  so  many  pretty  things  that  Doro- 
thy's room  looked  like  a  bazaar.  Among 
them  he  one  day  presented  her  a  toy 
fiddle.  When  Dorothy  saw  it  memory 
pierced  her  with  its  sting,  and  tears 
choked  the  thanks  she  tried  to  offer. 

"  It  reminded  me  so  of  poor  Herr 
von  Stein,"  she  stammered  apologeti- 
cally, as  soon  as  she  could  speak. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  Judge,  who  had 
been  regarding  her  anxiously,  "  it  shall  be 
taken  right  away  ;  it  shall  be  banished." 

"  Oh,  that 's  just  what  was  done  to 
Herr  von  Stein !  "  she  cried. 


142       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

"  Herr  von  Stein,  eh  !  Well,  I  dare 
say  the  old  Dutchman  deserved  it." 

Dorothy  shook  her  head  in  earnest 
denial.  "  Never!  It  was  done  just  for 
the  money.  We  put  him  in  pawn  —  in 
pawn,  dear  lovely  Herr  von  Stein !  Do 
you  suppose  he  minds  very  much  being 
left  in  that  horrid  shop?  " 

The  Judge  looked  thoughtfully  at  the 
child 's  anxious  little  face.  "  Do  you 
feel  quite  well  this  morning,  my  dear?" 
he  inquired,  pushing  the  wavy  locks 
from  her  brow.  "  You  are  not  feverish, 
I  hope  ? " 

"  No,  I  'm  not  feverish  at  all ;  but  I 
can  't  help  feeling  it  that  dear  Herr  von 
Stein  is  in  pawn.  You  would  yourself 
if  he  were  a  friend  of  yours,  even  if  he 
is  only  a  violin." 

"  Oh,  he  is  a  violin,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes  !     You   see,  when    I  was 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        143 

very  small,"  explained  Dorothy,  "  I  fan- 
cied that  the  dear  thing  was  alive,  and 
it  did  n't  seem  quite  respectful  to  speak 
of  anything  that's  alive  as  it,  —  just  as 
if  he  were  no  different  from  a  stick  or 
a  door-knob,  you  know.  Why,  even 
my  dollies  each  had  a  name." 

"Ah,  I  see!"  said  the  Judge  ;  "and 
so  you  called  it  Herr  von  Stein.  Did 
you  go  with  your  father  when  he  car- 
ried it  to  the  pawn-shop  ?  " 

"  No ;  he  carried  it  in  the  evening 
after  I  had  gone  to  bed.  I  did  n't  rind 
it  out  right  away,  for  you  see  since  we 
have  been  in  so  much  trouble  we  have 
not  listened  to  him  very  much.  He 
seems  to  feel  so  sorry  for  us  that  he 
always  makes  me  cry.  When  I  knew 
what  had  happened,  I  got  papa  to  show 
me  where  the  place  was,  and  I  went 
every  day  and  stayed    a  long  time   by 


144       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

the  window,  so  he  would   see    me,  and 
know  I  had  not  forgotten  him." 

Dorothy  wondered  that  the  Judge 
inquired  so  particularly  about  the  loca- 
tion of  this  little  shop ;  but  she  under- 
stood it  the  next  day  when  he  came  in 
with  a  triumphant  smile  upon  his  face, 
and  Herr  von  Stein  under  his  arm. 

When  the  child  was  able  to  go  out 
of  doors,  this  good  friend  gave  her  a 
pretty  little  purse,  containing  quite  a 
sum  of  money,  which  he  said  she  was 
to  spend  as  she  pleased.  In  fact,  he 
especially  requested  that  she  should 
give  him  no  account  of  it. 

"  Why,  that 's  queer !  "  said  Dorothy ; 
"  and  why  not  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  it  s  so  vulgar  to 
talk  about  money,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Dear  me !  I  have  talked  a  great  deal 
about  it   in  my  life,"  said  Dorothy,  re- 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        145 

flectively.  "  Every  month,  when  our 
salary  came,  we  used  to  plan  how  we 
would  spend  it ;  but  that  was  to  make 
it  go  as  far  as  possible,  and  when  it  was 
gone  we  never  spoke  of  money  at  all. 
It  was  not  so  much  that  we  were  not 
vulgar,"  she  added  honestly,  "  as  that 
there  did  n't  seem  to  be  anything  very 
pleasant  to  say." 

Judge  Hartwell  owned  a  trim  little 
coupe,  in  which  he  sent  Dorothy  out 
every  morning.  He  could  not  go  with 
her,  but  she  was  at  liberty  to  invite 
whom  she  chose  for  company.  He 
made  another  strange  request  about 
this,  which  was  that  she  should  not  tell 
him  who  this  companion  might  be. 

"  I  suppose  that  would  be  vulgar 
too,"  was  Dorothy's  puzzled  comment. 

The  Judge  laughed,  and  pinched  her 
smooth,  round  cheek,  admiring  its  rose- 
leaf  tint. 


146        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

"  I  would  like  to  have  you  drive 
out  into  the  country,  where  you  can 
breathe  pure  air,"  he  said  in  his  kind 
way.  "  That 's  the  best  medicine  for  a 
cough,  and  I  heard  you  coughing  this 
morning." 

"  Why,  I  only  choked,"  explained 
Dorothy. 

"  Don't  contradict,  little  girl,  but  do 
as  I  tell  you  !  "  said  the  Judge,  in  his 
gruff  tone ;  and  Dorothy,  reading  his 
kind  heart  with  a  clearness  that  would, 
had  he  known  it,  have  disturbed  him 
exceedingly,  put  her  arms  around  his 
neck  and  promised  to  obey. 

The  following  morning  the  coupe 
was  before  the  door  at  an  early  hour, 
and  Samuel  carried  Dorothy  out  to  it, 
tucking  her  up  in  the  robes,  for  the  air 
had  still  a  chill  in  it.  Then  the  coach- 
man looked  in  for  his  orders. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         147 

"  Drive  first  to  the  druggist's  on  the 

corner,  and  then  to  21 Street,"  said 

Miss  Thorpe,  with  an  elegant  air. 

At  the  former  place  she  bought  two 
bottles  of  cod-liver  oil,  which  was  what 
the  druggist  gave  her  as  the  best  thing 
he  had  for  a  cough ;  and  it  was  very 
pleasant  to  think  that  the  price  of  it 
would  not  have  to  be  squeezed  out  of 
that  lean  portemonnaie  from  which  her 
father  made  his  few  purchases.  It  is 
certainly  very  agreeable  to  have  money 
to  spend  as  one  pleases ;  and  Dorothy 
indulged  herself  in  this  pleasure,  and 
bought  a  number  of  things  which  she 
thought  would  make  her  father  com- 
fortable. 

Since  she  had  been  staying  with  the 
Judge,  Thorpe  and  Company  had  seen 
very  little  of  each  other,  and  each  meet- 
ing was  an  occasion  of  great  happiness. 


148       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

As  she  drove  through  the  busy  streets, 
she  thought  if  it  were  not  for  the  re- 
fractory cough,  she  would  be  a  very 
happy  little  girl  this  lovely  spring 
morning.  The  period  of  separation,  to 
which  she  had  agreed  only  until  the 
trial,  was  rapidly  passing,  and  after 
that  —  well,  how  could  she  have  any 
fear  for  the  future,  with  this  new  kind 
friend  who  was  always  ready  to  shield 
her  from  harm ;  so  with  loving  trust- 
fulness, she  left  her  father's  cause  in 
his  hands.  Dorothy  knew  no  more  of 
law  than  other  little  girls.  She  did  not 
understand  that  a  judge  must  abide  by 
the  decision  of  the  jury,  however  pain- 
ful to  his  feelings,  and  therefore  had 
not  the  power  to  do  as  he  might 
wish. 

Meantime  the  coupe  had  turned  into 
the    poor    little     street    where    Thorpe 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        149 

senior  now  lived.  It  was  a  dingy  place, 
with  tiresome  rows  of  high,  narrow 
buildings  well  plastered  with  signs,  and 
all  more  or  less  out  of  repair.  It  made 
Dorothy's  heart  ache  to  think  of  the 
difference  between  this  and  Beacon 
Street,  where  Judge  Hartwell's  house 
was,  and  where  she  was  made  so  comfort- 
able ;  or  even  dear  old  Sunshine  Street, 
with  its  nice  airy  houses  and  neat  row  of 
trees.  There  was  hardly  so  much  as  a 
blade  of  grass  for  her  father's  tired  eyes 
to  rest  on  ;  while  from  her  pretty  window 
she  had  a  lovely  view  of  the  Common, 
which  was  now  a  glorious  mass  of 
green. 

There  were  a  number  of  untidy-look- 
ing children  playing  about  the  steps  of 
the  house  before  which  the  carriage 
stopped.  They  stared  into  the  coupe, 
and  made    rude    faces   at    its    sad   little 


150       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

occupant,  while  the  coachman  ran  up 
the  high  stoop  to  inquire  if  Mr.  Thorpe 
was  at  home. 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  the  cross  faces 
change  into  sunshine  as  Dorothy  dis- 
tributed coins  from  that  delightful 
purse,  and  to  watch  the  children  as 
they  hurried  away  in  the  direction  of 
a  small  candy-shop,  gayly  chattering 
as   they  went. 

This  little  adventure  served  to  occupy 
Dorothy's  attention  until  her  father 
came  out,  which  he  presently  did  with 
a  smiling  face  to  welcome  his  little 
girl. 

The  two  had  a  very  affectionate 
meeting  on  the  sidewalk,  with  the 
coachman  waving  his  whip  as  good 
fairy  in  the  background,  and  any  num- 
ber of  spectators  from  the  windows  of 
the  neighboring  houses. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         151 

"  I  have  come  to  take  you  out,  papa," 
Dorothy  cried,  with  a  motion  of  her 
hand  in  the  direction  of  the  coupe. 
"  We  are  going  for  a  long,  long  drive 
into  the  country ;  and  I  have  ever  so 
much  to  tell  you." 

Her  father,  however,  seemed  very 
reluctant  to  accept  this  invitation ;  and 
it  was  only  because  of  Dorothy's  evi- 
dent disappointment  that  he  finally 
stepped  into  the  carriage,  and  allowed 
himself  to  be  whirled  away  from  the 
sorrowful   old   city. 

As  they  rolled  gayly  over  the  Milldam 
and  out  into  the  beautiful  country  roads 
the  Judge  had  advised  for  Dorothy's 
cough,  the  little  girl  would  say  from 
time  to   time,  — 

"  This  is  ever  so  much  nicer  than 
going  in  the  horse-car,  is  n't  it,  papa  ?  " 
for   their   excursions    in     the    past    had 


152       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

always  been  made  in  that  humble 
conveyance. 

It  was  now  late  in  April ;  and  spring 
came  in  royal  style  that  year,  with  the 
greenest  foliage,  the  brightest  skies, 
and  soft,  delicious  breezes.  It  all 
seemed  so  lovely  to  Dorothy  that  she 
.  was  sure  her  papa  must  enjoy  it  too, 
and  did  not  wear  that  pleased  expres- 
sion just  to  gratify  her.  Indeed,  each 
was  so  intent  upon  making  the  other 
happy  that  black  Care  was  really  left 
moping  behind  them. 

The  experiment  proved  so  successful 
that  it  was  repeated  several  times  before 
the  trial,  which  took  place  shortly  after. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

TF  we    are  to  follow   the   fortunes    of 

Thorpe  and  Company,  I  must  take 

you    into    a  strange   scene,  —  that  of   a 

court  of  law.     Let  us  see  what  such  a 

place  is  like. 

At  the  end  of  the  large  room,  on 
a  platform,  was  the  Judge's  bench, 
behind  which  now  sat  Judge  Hartwell, 
with  an  air  so  calm  and  dignified  it  was 
difficult  to  believe  that  his  heart  beat 
fast  at  the  sight  of  an  innocent 
little  face,  which  looked  like  a  flower 
among  the  black-coated  figures  that 
surrounded  it.  At  his  right  sat  the 
twelve  men  who  composed  the  jury, 
whose  office  it  was,  after  a  hearing  of 


154       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

the  case,  to  decide  whether  or  not 
Robert  Thorpe  was  guilty  of  the  crime 
of  which  he  had  been  accused.  Be- 
tween them  and  the  Judge  was  a  small 
stand  with  a  railing  in  front  of  it,  where 
the  witnesses  would  be  placed  one  by 
one  to  be  examined  by  the  lawyers. 
In  front  of  the  Judge's  bench  were 
tables  for  the  use  of  the  reporters, 
whose  business  it  was  to  carry  an  ac- 
count of  the  proceedings  to  the  news- 
papers, which  would  proclaim  the 
disgrace  or  honorable  acquittal  of 
Robert  Thorpe. 

At  another  table  beyond  these  sat 
Tommy  Dow's  father  and  a  lawyer  who 
was  his  partner,  but  whom  Dorothy  had 
never  seen.  There  was  also  a  man 
who  afterward  had  a  great  deal  to  say ; 
and  Mr.  Thorpe  told  Dorothy,  in  reply 
to  her  inquiries,  that  he  was  the  prose- 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        155 

cuting  attorney.  What  the  little  girl 
understood  by  this  it  would  be  difficult 
to  tell.  Then  came  the  defendant,  by 
which  name  was  designated  Dorothy's 
papa,  and  with  him  the  poor  little 
junior  member  of  this  ill-fated  firm. 
Close  at  hand  were  the  witnesses  on 
both  sides.  All  these  persons  were 
collected  around  the  platform  ;  behind 
them,  away  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
hall,  were  benches,  which  are  often 
nearly  empty ;  but  the  interesting  feat- 
ures of  this  case  being  known  to  many 
persons,  there  was  a  ceaseless  tide  of 
people  flowing  in  at  the  doors,  until 
all  these  benches  were  filled. 

The  proceedings  began  by  a  state- 
ment of  the  case  to  be  tried;  and  after 
the  witnesses  were  sworn  in,  many  of 
them  were  examined,  until  at  last  the 
name  of  the  defendant  was  called.    With 


156       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

one  reassuring  glance  at  his  little  child, 
Mr.  Thorpe  rose  and  took  his  place  on 
the  witness-stand.  There  was  a  general 
silence  in  the  court-room,  and  every  eye 
was  fastened  upon  him.  He  did  not 
look  like  a  man  guilty  of  crime,  but 
had  the  air  of  a  true  gentleman  bearing 
in  a  quiet  and  gentle  manner  injustice 
and  unmerited  disgrace.  In  Dorothy's 
eyes,  at  least,  there  was  not  in  all  that 
assembly  a  man  worthy  to  be  compared 
with  him. 

His  examination  now  began.  It  was 
a  trying  ordeal  for  poor  little  Dorothy, 
but  she  had  begged  so  earnestly  to  be 
present  at  the  trial  that  her  father  had 
consented.  He  thought  she  might  suf- 
fer still  more  if  left  by  herself,  a  prey 
to  her  own  fancies.  She  was  scarcely 
better  off  in  the  court-room,  being  too 
young  to  understand  what  was  said,  and 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        157 

was  only  bewildered    by  the   big  words 
and  queer  phrases. 

"  Oh,  why  do  they  ask  so  many  fool- 
ish questions  ?  "  she  wondered  ;  and  why 
did  not  her  papa  explain  that  he  had 
not  taken  the  money?  If  she  could 
only  stand  there  in  his  place,  she  was 
sure    she  could  set  things   straight. 

But  no  notice  at  all  was  taken  of  her, 
and  she  sat  looking  with  wide  eyes  at 
the  strange  scene,  and  puzzling  her  lit- 
tle head  in  vain.  She  was  only  sure. 
of  one  thing,  which  was  that  her  father 
had  not  made  his  innocence  so  clear 
as    she  had  expected   he   would. 

After  he  was  released  many  other 
persons  were  questioned,  and  afterward 
he  was  called  back  and  cross-questioned. 
Suddenly  in  the  midst  of  the  strange 
jargon  she  caught  the  familiar  sound 
of   her  own   name. 


158        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

The  trial,  as  it  went  on,  had  in  fact 
become  more  and  more  interesting;  and 
when  the  name  of  Dorothy  Thorpe  was 
called,  every  person  in  the  room  was  look- 
ing on  with  breathless  attention.  A 
hundred  eyes  followed  this  helpless  little 
morsel  of  humanity  as  she  was  led  by 
Mr.  Dow  to  the  witness-stand,  to  face 
those  who  were  disgracing  her  fair  name 
and  darkening  her  future.  A  murmur 
of  compassion  from  those  who  felt  the 
pity  of  it  broke  out  as  she  stood  there 
alone,  her  innocent  little  face  in  its  white 
cap  just  above  the  railing,  her  trustful 
baby-eyes  looking  out  at  them  from  the 
spot  where  so  many  a  scheming  rogue 
had  stood. 

The  nature  of  the  oath  having  been 
explained  to  her,  the  child  was  duly 
sworn,  and  she  was  asked  if  she  had 
ever  thought  her  father  was  in   trouble 


I 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        159 

before  he  had  been  arrested  on  this 
charge    of   embezzlement. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and 
then  the  answer,  spoken  in  a  distinct 
but  gentle  little  voice,  broke  the  silence  : 
"  Yes,  I  thought  so.  Sometimes  it  seemed 
as  if  we  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  but 
we  did  n't  worry  over  it  very  much,  for 
that  does  n't  do  any  good,  you  know." 

"  I  am  not  speaking  of  you,  but  of 
your  father,"  said  the  prosecuting  at- 
torney, in  such  a  sharp  tone  that  he  was 
instantly   rebuked    by   the    Judge. 

"  Oh,"  said  Dorothy,  "  don't  scold 
him !  I  'm  sure  he  did  n't  mean  to  be 
cross." 

Even  the  prosecuting  attorney  him- 
self joined  in  the  laugh  that  ran  through 
the  court,  and  he  went  on  good-hu- 
moredly  :  "  Well,  then,  my  dear,  will  you 
tell   us   what    you    supposed    to    be  the 


160        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

nature  of  your  father's  trouble  ?  What 
was  he   troubled   about?" 

"  There  was  his  cough,  for  one  thing ; 
and  then  no  one  would  appreciate  the 
poem  or  the  play  or  the  novel,  although 
I  am  sure  they  are  very  beautiful ;  and 
sometimes  he  was  troubled  about  money." 

"Ah!  and  how  did  you  know  that?" 
asked  the  lawyer,  in  a  tone  which  seemed 
to  express  a  great  deal  of  satisfaction. 
"  What  made  you  think  he  was  troubled 
about  money  ?  " 

"  Because  I  knew  we  did  n't  have 
any,"  was  the  conclusive  reply. 

"  How  did  you  know  he  did  n't  have 
any? 

"  One  reason,"  said  Dorothy,  gravely, 
"  was  because  I  knew  I  had  spent  it.  I 
am  afraid  I  was  very  extravagant;  but 
you  know  how  it  is  about  money,  —  it 
seems  almost  to  spend  itself." 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        161 

"  I  suppose  you  allude  now  to  your 
allowance,"  suggested  the  lawyer. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  answered  Dor- 
othv. 

"  Did  your  father  give  you  a  large 
allowance  ? " 

"No,  it  wasn't  large;  it  was  a  ma// 
allowance." 

"  How  much  was  it  ?  "  was  the  next 
question. 

"  It  was  a  hundred  dollars  a  month." 

"  A  hundred  dollars  a  month  ?  Well, 
I  should  call  that  a  very  liberal  allowance 
for  a  bookkeeper's  child.  It  must  have 
been  nearly  the  whole  of  your  father's 
salary." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  it  was  n't  enough," 
insisted  Dorothy.  "  Yes,  it  was  the 
whole  of  papa's  salary.  He  gave  it  to 
me  every  month." 

"  If   he    gave    you   the   whole   of    his 


1 62       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

salary,  he  must  have  had  other  money 
for  his  own  support." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Dorothy,  in  her  mild 
little  voice,  "  /  supported  him." 

This  assertion  was  greeted  with  an- 
other laugh,  which  Dorothy  thought  very 
singular,  but  so  many  of  her  speeches 
were  received  in  this  way  that  it  did  not 
trouble  her  very  much,  and  she  waited 
quite  patiently  for  the  next  question. 

"  Do  you  know,"  began  the  lawyer 
again,  "  if  your  father  wanted  money  for 
any  particular  purpose  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  was  the  ready  reply;  "he 
wanted  to  go  abroad  and  live  in  some 
nice  warm  country  where  his  cough 
might  get  well.  I  know  all  his  plans, 
because  we  always  made  them  together," 
said  Dorothy,  with  a  loving  glance  at 
Thorpe  senior,  who  sat  with  his  eyes 
fastened  sadly  upon  her.      "  We   made 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         163 

ever  so  many  plans  to  get  the  money, 
but  never  one  to  'bezzle  it.  There  has 
been  a  great  mistake,"  she  went  on, 
feeling  that  here  at  last  was  the  oppor- 
tunity she  had  wished  for,  "  and  I  want 
to  tell  you  that  I  know  papa  did  not 
take  the  money.  Papa  is  a  gentleman, 
you  see,  and  gentlemen  of  course  never 
steal." 

She  cast  a  triumphant  glance  at  Mr. 
Dow ;  but  the  lawyer's  face  wore  an 
expression  of  dismay,  in  marked  con- 
trast to  the  smiling  and  confident  air 
of  his  opponents.  It  seemed  to  the 
little  girl  that  what  she  said  must 
have  convinced  everybody  that  her 
father  was  innocent,  but  in  reality  it 
had  all  told  against  him. 

Dorothy  left  the  witness-stand  with  a 
smile,  and  during  the  long  speeches  of 
the  lawyers  and  the  address  of  the  Judge 


164        Dear  Dattghter  Dorothy. 

which  followed,  she  wore  an  expression 
of  bright  hopefulness. 

Now  at  last  the  time  had  come  for 
the  jury  to  give  the  verdict.  Already 
they  had  left  the  room,  and  when  they 
returned  the  trial  would  be  over. 

Five,  ten,  fifteen  minutes  passed. 

Dorothy  sat  quite  still,  holding  one 
of  her  father's  hands  in  hers  and  look- 
ing from  time  to  time  with  loving  care' 
into  his  face.  The  room  was  so  still 
that  when  the  jurymen  came  back  into 
the  court  and  the  fatal  word  "  Guilty  " 
was  pronounced,  it  was  heard  distinctly 
in  every  part  of  it. 

"  Guilty  !  "  Think  what  a  blow  the 
word  must  have  been  to  that  tender 
little  daughter!  Those  who  were  watch- 
ing her  saw  the  child  raise  the  hand  she 
held  to  her  lips  and  kiss  it  with  a  touch- 
ing  reverence.     It   was  as  if  she   thus 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         165 

expressed  her  own  unchanged  loyalty, 
and  they  knew  that  one  trustful  little 
soul  at  least  believed  in  Robert  Thorpe's 
honor. 

Yes,  the  verdict  was  Guilty ;  but  the 
sentence  —  oh,  it  would  not  be  such  as 
Tommy  had  described  !  The  Judge  was 
a  kind,  kind  man,  and  he  loved  her. 

Throughout  the  day  Judge  Hart  well 
had  worn  a  face  of  flint,  his  eyes  under 
their  heavy  brows  fixed  in  a  gloomy 
frown.  Never,  lest  his  heart  should 
falter,  did  he  allow  himself  to  look  at 
the  child  whom  he  had  befriended  and 
loved.  But  now  the  moment  had  come 
when  he  must  pronounce  the  sentence 
which,  although  made  as  light  as  the 
law  allows,  was  still  so  terrible. 

"  To  serve,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  for  a 
term  of  one  year  in  the  state-prison." 

"  Then    send    me    too,    oh,    send    me 


1 66        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

there  too  !  "  wailed  little  Dorothy,  in  a 
voice  that  rang  out  through  the  big 
room,  its  agonized  intensity  bringing 
one's  heart  to  one's  throat. 

She  held  out  her  arms  entreatingly  to 
the  Judge,  and  tottered  a  step  toward 
him  before  her  father  caught  her  in  his 
arms  and  whispered  some  magic  words 
in  her  ear. 

"  Darling,  don't  make  it  harder  for 
me !  Try  to  bear  it."  This  is  what 
he  said,  knowing  it  to  be  the  only  argu- 
ment which  would  move  her. 

Dorothy  could  not  answer,  but  she 
tried  to  calm  herself  for  her  father's 
sake.  Her  heart  beat  fast,  and  a  mist 
rose  before  her  eyes,  through  which  she 
but  dimly  discerned  that  some  one  had 
stepped  out  from  the  crowd  and  was 
speaking  in  a  loud  voice  which  silenced 
the  rising  murmurs.     It  was  "  Brother," 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         167 

"  Robert  Thorpe  is  not  guilty,"  he 
said.     "  I  took  the  money." 

Then  a  great  hubbub  arose,  and 
a  voice  cried :  "  Hurrah  for  Robert 
Thorpe  and  the  little  gal ! " 

The  trial  had  already  lasted  many 
hours  when  Mr.  Isaac  Black  spoke  those 
words  that  fastened  upon  himself  the 
disgrace  which  Thorpe  and  Company 
had  so  long  and  unjustly  borne. 

After  various  formalities,  which  the 
circumstances  made  necessary,  the  Judge 
once  more  arose,  and  declared  that  the 
court  would  assume  the  responsibility 
of  immediate  action,  and  not  leave  the 
defendant  to  the  expedient  of  apply- 
ing for  a  new  trial  for  pardon  ;  and  he 
ended  with  these  words :  "  Let  the 
judgment  be  vacated,  the  verdict  be  set 
aside,  and  the  prisoner  be  restored  to 
liberty." 


1 68        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

Which  in  simple  English  means  that 
Robert  Thorpe,  cleared  from  all  suspi- 
cion, was  at  liberty  to  take  his  little 
daughter  by  the  hand  and  walk  out 
into  the  outer  world,  where  he  could 
hold  up  his  head  once  more  among 
men. 

But  this  could  not  be  done  at  once, 
for  a  crowd  of  people  now  pressed 
around  him,  offering  such  hearty  con- 
gratulations that  it  was  easy  to  see  on 
whose  side  their  sympathies  had  been 
enlisted. 

These,  however,  presently  made  way 
for  Judge  Hartwell,  who  was  hastening 
toward  them.  He  took  Mr.  Thorpe's 
hand  and  pressed  it  warmly  while  he 
said :  "  I  congratulate  you  with  all  my 
heart,  and  I  thank  God  that  he  has 
spared  me  a  great  sorrow." 

It  had  been  a  most  trying  day,  and 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         169 

Dorothy  was  now  quite  exhausted. 
Her  little  face  was  as  white  as  a  sheet, 
and  she  trembled  all  over,  so  that  her 
papa  looking  down  at  her  said  anx- 
iously, "  Poor  little  girl,  the  excitement 
has  been  too  much  for  her  !  " 

Dorothy  felt  that,  absurd  though  it 
was,  now  that  everything  had  turned 
out  so  happily,  she  was  really  going 
to  cry.  She  slid  her  hand  into  her 
pocket,  but  instead  of  the  little  square 
of  muslin  she  brought  out  a  letter.  It 
had  lain  there  forgotten  ever  since  the 
morning  when  it  had  been  given  her 
for  her  father  by  Mrs.   Kipp. 

This  letter  had  been  sent  to  Mr. 
Thorpe  from  the  publisher  to  whom 
that  poem  had  been  taken  so  many 
weeks  before ;  and  if  you  will  believe 
it,  he  had  accepted  it.  Moreover,  the 
letter    contained    a    large    check,    and 


1 70        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

what  Dorothy  valued  even  more,  a  kind 
recognition  of  the  talent  in  which  the 
poor  little  girl  had  been  for  so  long 
the  only  believer.  And  as  if  this  were 
not  enough  to  fill  one's  cup  of  happi- 
ness, there  was  also  a  wish  expressed 
for  further  contributions. 

With  so  much  to  cheer  her,  Dorothy 
at  once  revived,  and  they  went  out  of 
the  court-room  together;  the  Judge,  to 
all  appearances,  the  most  pleased  of  the 
three. 

They  found  the  coupe  at  the  door. 
The  Judge  put  in  little  Dorothy,  and 
turned  to  her  papa. 

"  Come,"  he  urged,  reading  denial  on 
the  young  man's  face.  "  You  must  come 
with  us.  It  will  please  the  child,  you 
know  ;  and  when  people  have  suffered 
as  we  have  to-day,  I  think  pride  is  out 
of  place." 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         1 7 1 

So  the  third  figure  crowded  into  the 
carriage,  the  door  was  closed  with  a 
slam,  and  they  rattled  gayly  awTay,  leav- 
ing trouble  and  disgrace  at  an  ever- 
widening  distance   behind   them. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"P*OR  some  weeks  after  the  trial, 
Dorothy  remained  with  the  Judge. 
He  did  not  wish  to  let  the  little  girl 
go  ;  and  at  present  while  her  father  was 
seeking  some  means  of  support,  he  was 
not  in  a  condition  to  take  care  of  the 
child. 

In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Thorpe  was 
writing  for  the  Judge;  and  it  was  pleas- 
ant for  Dorothy  to  see  the  friendship 
that  was  growing  up  between  them,  and 
to  know  that  here  was  some  one  at  last 
who  appreciated  her  papa  almost  as 
highly  as  she  did  herself. 

Dorothy  had  rarely  seen  Thorpe 
senior    in    such    good    spirits ;     but   his 


Dear  DaagJiter  Dorothy.         173 

health  was  still  delicate,  and  his  cough 
a  matter  of  much  concern. 

Besides  this,  the  only  blot  on  the  lit- 
tle girl's  happiness  was  the  thought  of 
"  Brother,"  whose  probable  sentence  lay 
like  a  weight  on  her  kind  little  heart. 

It  was  impossible  for  her  to  forget 
her  last  glimpse  of  him  as  he  walked 
with  bent  head  out  of  the  court-room 
in  the  custody  of  an  officer. 

She  forgot  that  it  was  because  of  his 
dishonesty  that  she  and  her  father  had 
borne  those  weeks  of  anxiety  and  pain, 
and  only  remembered  that  at  the  last  he 
had  come  forward  and  saved  them.  It 
was  owing  to  this  act  that  she  was  now 
as  happy  as  the  day  is  long,  while  he 
himself  was  behind  prison  bars. 

One  day  Mr.  Thorpe  called  Dorothy 
to  him  with  a  very  serious  air.  "  My 
darling,"  he  said,  as  he  took  her  in  his 


174       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

arms,  "  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Isaac  Black,  and  he  wishes  to  see  you. 
Would  it  pain  you  very  much  to  go 
to  him  ? " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  answered  Dorothy.  "  Why 
should  it,  papa  ?  I  think  I  would  like 
to  tell  him  how  sorry  I  am  for  him. 
Shall  we  go  now?" 

It  was  Mr.  Thorpe's  intention  to  take 
the  child  at  once  to  the  prison ;  so 
Dorothy  hastened  to  put  on  her  cap 
and  cloak. 

Meanwhile  the  Judge,  knowing  that 
the  sight  of  others'  pain  always  cast 
a  shadow  on  Dorothy's  tender  heart, 
walked  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
grumbled. 

"  I  disapprove  of  her  going,"  he  said. 
"  That  scoundrel  has  already  caused 
trouble  enough  without  calling  upon 
her  sympathies  now,  and  keeping  alive 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        175 

the  memory  of  this  unhappy  affair, 
which  it  has  been  mv  constant  en- 
deavor  to  make  her  forget.  I  wonder 
you   let  her  go,  Thorpe." 

"  It  was  an  experience,  Judge  Hart- 
well,  that  even  such  kindness  as  yours 
will  never  make  her  forget,"  said  Doro- 
thy's papa.  "  If  the  child  can  help  the 
poor  soul,  we  must  not  grudge  the 
cost." 

"  Pooh!  I  have  not  a  farthing's  worth 
of  pity  for  the  fellow ;  but  you  and  the 
child  are  just  alike,  and  jump  at  a  chance 
of  sacrificing  your  own  feelings.  If  you 
have  made  up  your  mind  to  go,  it  is  use- 
less for  me  to  try  to  dissuade  you." 

But  he  grumbled  on  until  Dorothy 
came  down  dressed  for  the  street,  and 
while  he  accompanied  them  to  the 
coupe,  of  which  he  insisted  they  should 
make  use. 


1 76        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

During  the  drive  Mr.  Thorpe  ex- 
plained to  Dorothy  that  it  had  been  out 
of  compassion  for  herself  that  Mr.  Black 
had  finally  confessed  his  guilt. 

In  truth,  while  the  child  had  stood  on 
the  witness-stand  so  innocently  injuring 
her  father's  cause,  and  yet  all  the  time 
showing  for  him  a  love  that  would  make 
his  sufferings  hers  also,  the  guilty  man 
felt  his  wicked  resolve  waver.  Not  only 
Robert  Thorpe  but  this  sweet  blameless 
baby  —  as  Dorothy  seemed  among  the 
grave  surroundings  of  the  court  —  was 
also  to  suffer  for  his  sins.  To  be 
trapped  at  eight  years  into  dragging 
one's  own  name  into  disgrace,  —  was 
not  this  a  sight  to  make  angels  weep  ? 
Mr.  Black,  to  be  sure,  was  no  angel ; 
but  his  heart  was  not  so  hard  that  he 
could  look  upon  it  unmoved,  and  the 
guileless  speeches  that  so  dismayed  Mr. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         177 

Dow  made  the  course  he   had  planned 
for  himself  impossible. 

There  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind  that 
if  he  remained  silent  Mr.  Thorpe  would 
be  convicted ;  but  he  would  come  for- 
ward like  a  man  and  bear  the  penalty 
of  his  own  wrongdoing. 

It  was  so  hard,  however,  to  do  this 
that  he  sat  silent  while  the  lawyers 
went  on  and  on ;  and  finally  the  trial 
was  over  and  he  had  not  moved. 

Then  the  sharp  cry  that  Dorothy 
gave  in  the  shock  of  that  terrible 
sentence  wrung  from  him  his  tardy 
confession. 

He  was  awaiting  his  trial  in  the  jail, 
before  whose  grim  doorway  the  coupe 
now  stopped. 

Dorothy  and  her  father  followed 
an  officer,  who  led  them  through  the 
gloomy  building,  which  cast  such  shad- 


178       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

ows  on  men's  lives,  to  the  cell  where 
Mr   Black  was  confined. 

The  little  girl  looked  expectantly  at 
her  papa.  "  I  think  he  had  rather  not 
see  me,  darling ;  it  is  you  he  has  asked 
for.  You  need  not  be  afraid,  for  I 
shall  stand  right  here  till  you  come 
back." 

When  one's  whole  heart  is  filled 
with  pity  for  another,  one  is  not  troub- 
led by  fears  for  one's  self,  and  Dorothy 
walked  quickly  in.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  bed  where  the  prisoner 
was  lying.  Although  she  had  been 
told  that  he  was  ill,  she  was  not  pre- 
pared for  so  great  a  change  in  him. 
He  was  lying  very  quietly,  and  might 
have  been  asleep  but  that  his  eyes  were 
open  and  they  had  a  strange,  wild 
look. 

When  he  saw  Dorothy  he  seemed  to 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         179 

shrink  down  into  the  bed,  and  he  said 
in  an  excited -tone,  "  So  you  came,  after 
all.     Do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  know;  you  are  Brother,"  said 
the  little  girl,  in  her  soft  voice. 

"  Brother."  The  word  seemed  to 
soothe  him,  and  he  repeated  it,  looking 
wistfully  at  Dorothy.  "  There  was  once 
a  little  girl  like  you  who  called  me  that. 
If  she  had  lived,  I  might  not  have 
become  a  scoundrel." 

"  Oh,  no,  don't  call  yourself  that !  I 
think  you  are  very  good.  I  was  glad 
when  papa  said  he  should  bring  me 
here,  for  I  have  been  wishing  that  I 
could  thank  you.  It  was  so  kind  of 
you  to  take  all  the  blame  to  yourself. 
I  am  sure  you  are  a  very,  very  good 
man." 

He  gave  a  restless  toss  upon  the  bed. 
"  Don't  you    know  better  than    to    say 


180       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

that  ? "  he  cried  out  irritably.  "  It 's 
not  true.  I  'm  a  felon.  There,  there, 
child !     I  did  not  mean  to  be  so  rough." 

"  Well,  you  know  I  have  been  a  felon 
too,"  said  Dorothy.  "I  know  just  how 
it  feels,  and  how  people  always  say 
the  wrong  thing  to  you.  But  there  is 
one  good  thing  about  trouble.  After 
it 's  over,  you  see,  you  feel  even  happier 
than  you  did  before." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  cried  Brother,  eagerly. 
"  That  reminds  me  why  I  wanted  to  see 
you.  It  was  to  know  if  you  are  happy 
again." 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  exclaimed  the  little  girl. 
"  It 's  very  selfish,  though,  while  you  are 
shut  up  in  here ;  but  I  did  n't  really 
know  that  it  was  quite  so  bad.  I  shall 
think  of  you  now  more  than  ever." 

But  to  Dorothy's  surprise  this  only 
added  to   Brother's  distress. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.        181 

"  Don't  think  of  me  at  all,"  he  im- 
plored, "  but  be  as  happy  as  you  can,  for 
my  sake.  That  is  what  I  should  like 
best.  Sometimes  it  has  seemed  to  me 
that  you  will  always  look  as  you  did  the 
last  time  I  saw  you  in  the  court.  I  am 
always  fancying  that  I  hear  you  cry  out 
in  that  dreadful  way,  and  it  drives  me 
frantic,"  cried  poor  Brother,  flinging  out 
his  arms  and  staring  wildly  at  Dorothy. 
"  You  are  always  screaming,  child.  Oh, 
it  is  awful,  awful  !  " 

Dorothy  had  never  seen  a  person  be- 
side himself  as  this  man  was.  She  stood 
still  a  few  moments,  evidently  puzzled  ; 
then  she  touched  him  with  her  soft 
little  hand. 

"See!"  she  said  brightly,  "I  look 
happy.  You  don't  hear  me  scream  now, 
and  I  sha'n't  any  more.  I  promise  to 
be  very  happy  for  your  sake.       It  is  n't 


1 82       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

much  to  promise  when  you  have  done 
so  much  for  me." 

He  fell  back  on  his  pillow  and  sighed. 
To  make  the  child  realize  his  selfishness 
seemed  impossible. 

"  Well,  after  all,  I  am  glad  she  doesn't 
blame  me,"  he  murmured. 

"  Blame  you  !  Oh,  no,  it  was  n't  your 
fault,"  she  said,  in  her  earnest  little 
voice  ;  "  I  am  sure  it  was  n't  your  fault. 
You  were  not  treated  fairly  at  all.  Why, 
they  did  n't  even  put  your  name  on  the 
sign.  Poor  Brother,  everything  was 
against  you ! " 

"  Yes,  everything  was  against  me," 
he  repeated.  His  mind  was  wandering 
now,  and  he  looked  far  beyond  the 
prison  walls  into  a  past  where  Dorothy 
could  not  follow  him. 

She  waited  a  few  moments,  and  then 
in  her  pity  stooped  down  and  kissed  him. 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         183 

"  Good-by,  Brother,"  she  whispered  ; 
"  I  shall  be  very  happy." 

A  strange  —  I  had  almost  said  a 
sweet  —  expression  stole  into  the  poor 
worn  face.  The  odious  wrinkle  was 
smoothed  from  his  brow,  leaving  it  soft 
and  untroubled  like  a  little  child's. 
Then  his  eyes  closed,  and  he  seemed 
to  fall  into   a  gentle   sleep. 

The  officer  beckoned  to  Dorothy, 
who  crept  noiselessly  back  to  her  father, 
and  with  him  went  out  again  into  the 
sunshine. 

It  was  not  until  some  weeks  after- 
ward she  was  told  that  "  Brother  "  died 
that  night. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

TT  was  a  fine  June  morning.  At  an 
early  hour  the  steamship  "  Cepha- 
lonia "  was  to  start  from  Boston  for 
Liverpool.  Already  the  deck  was 
crowded  with  excited  passengers,  and 
the  friends  who  were  bidding  them 
good-by.  Here  was  a  party  of  young 
girls  looking  forward  to  their  first  trip 
abroad.  Yonder  were  two  interesting 
little  lads  destined  for  an  English  school, 
already  forgetting  their  anticipated  woes 
in  the  excitement  of  the  novel  scene. 
There  were  people  travelling  for  pleas- 
ure and  others  bound  on  business,  and 
bright  faces  everywhere.  The  sound  of 
scores  of  voices  mingled  with  the  cries 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         185 

of  the  sailors  and  the  general  noise  and 
confusion  on  the  wharf. 

It  was  at  the  last  moment  that  a  par- 
ticularly large  and  interesting  party 
arrived. 

"  An  actress,  no  doubt,"  the  passen- 
gers declared  ;  "  no  one  else  ever  has 
so  many  flowers." 

There  was  much  curiosity  about  the 
central  figure  of  the  group  ;  but  not  un- 
til it  reached  the  plank  that  led  from 
the  wharf  to  the  deck  over  which  they 
were  obliged  to  pass  in  single  file,  was 
the  discovery  made  that  the  object  of 
all  this  attention  was  only  a  very  sweet 
little  girl. 

She  had  a  lovely,  serious  little  face, 
and  soft,  golden  brown  curls,  over 
which  she  wore  a  dainty  muslin  cap. 
A  handsome  young  man,  with  a  face 
that   might  sometimes  be  sad,  but  was 


1 86        Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

now  bright  with  hope  and  courage,  care- 
fully guided  her  steps.  But  I  am  sure 
you  have  already  recognized  the  friends 
we  have  known  so  long  as  Thorpe  and 
Company. 

To  account  for  their  appearance  on 
this  new  scene,  I  must  tell  you  that 
Mr.  Thorpe  was  now  engaged  in  writ- 
ing a  book  for  the  publisher  who  had 
accepted  his  poem.  This  required  a 
trip  abroad  in  search  of  information 
that  could  not  be  obtained  at  home ; 
and  as  Dorothy  announced  to  their 
acquaintances,  instead  of  the  manu- 
scripts, her  papa  and  herself  were  now 
to  be  the  travellers. 

All  their  friends  had  shown  much 
pleasure  in  Mr.  Thorpe's  sudden  pros- 
perity ;  and  when  the  morning  came 
that  they  were  to  sail,  so  many  of  these 
accompanied  them  to  the  steamer  that 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         187 

Thorpe  and  Company  were  supposed  to 
be  people  of  great  consequence. 

How  such  rumors  are  set  afloat  is 
a  mystery ;  but  it  was  immediately  whis- 
pered among  the  passengers  that  the 
interesting-looking  young  man  was  a 
very  promising  author.  That  large  fine- 
looking  gentleman,  with  the  iron-gray 
whiskers  and  the  gruff  voice  that 
changed  so  quickly  when  addressing 
the  little  girl,  was  surely  a  person  of 
distinction.  Some  one  said  it  was 
Judge  Hartwell,  and  that  the  little  man 
in  spectacles  who  was  carrying  a  huge 
bunch  of  Catherine  Mermet  roses  was 
no  less  a  personage  than  the  famous 
Professor   Grumpinson. 

The  limits  of  this  chapter  forbid  the 
mention  of  each  of  Dorothy's  friends 
who  were  present ;  but  Mrs.  Kipp  cry- 
ing and  smiling  in   a  breath,   Mrs.   Le 


1 88         Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

Grand  in  all  her  bugles,  and  Mrs. 
Smith  and  little  Miss  Miller  you  may 
be  sure  were  among  them.  It  touched 
Dorothy  very  much  that  poor  Marthy 
Ann  had  closed  her  shop  and  come 
with  the  others  to  pay  her  this  parting 
compliment.  She  had  brought,  too,  a 
large  package  of  the  delectable  taffy  for 
which  she  was  so  famous,  and  which 
Dorothy  generously  offered  to  the  new 
friends  she  made  on  the  voyage,  with 
the  remark  that  she  believed  it  to  be  one 
of  the  very  best  things  for  seasickness. 

But  already  the  signal  was  given  for 
those  who  were  not  passengers  to  leave 
the  steamer. 

The  Judge  shook  hands  hastily  with 
Mr.  Thorpe.  "  The  trip  will  set  you 
right  up,  I  have  n't  a  doubt  of  it,"  he 
was  saying.  "  I  shall  find  you  a  new 
man  in  August,  when  you  know  I  have 


Dear  Daughter  Dorothy.         189 

Dorothy's  promise  that  we  shall  travel 
through  the  Tyrol  together." 

"  Good-by,"  cried  Dorothy,  as  she 
drew  him  down  for  a  parting  kiss,  and 
recalled  his  kindness  to  her  in  the 
home  she  had  deserted.  "  I  wish  I 
were  twins,  and  then  I  could  be  a 
daughter  to  each  of  you." 

"  Good-by  !  good-by  !  "  shouted  a  cho- 
rus of  voices,  as  the  ladies  hurried  from 
the  ship. 

Dorothy  had  but  a  moment  to  press 
a  parting  gift  in  Professor  Grumpin- 
son's  hand.  It  was  a  package  contain- 
ing a  parasol  that  had  belonged  to  the 
lovely  Alice  Maud  ;  and  although  the 
Professor  laughed  when  he  saw  it,  yet 
he  kept  it  a  long  time  in  memory  of 
the  gentle  giver. 

There  was  much  shouting  and  wav- 
ins:   of    handkerchiefs   from    the   great 


190       Dear  Daughter  Dorothy. 

steamer  as  it  moved  slowly  out  to  sea, 
which  was  energetically  returned  by  the 
people  on  the  wharf.  From  no  part  of 
it  were  the  voices  heartier  than  that 
where  Dorothy's  friends  stood  straining 
their  eyes  for  a  last  glimpse  of  the  little 
face  whose  sunshine  had  brightened 
their  lives. 

"  Three  cheers  for  the  '  Cephalonia ' !  " 
screamed  the  excited  voice  of  Tommy 
Dow. 

"  And  three  more,"  added  the  Judge, 
tenderly, "  for  Dear  Daughter  Dorothy  !  " 


THE   END. 


wife 


